Dirty Night Clowns
by AvissAbyss
Summary: A very serious story about a very serious matter. More information in the author's note in chapter one. Trigger warning: Child molestation (the main subject of the story), psychological dilemmas-it's just really messed up and I'm sorry for that.
1. It Seems Okay

**AN: Okay, so . . . This will be a very disturbing fanfiction. Not for the weak of heart. There will be some funny parts in it, but seriously. This is about child molestation. Why? Because no one ever wants to talk about it, but it's a real thing. The song "Dirty Night Clowns" by Chris Garneau was the deal-sealer for me to make this, the idea being in my head for a while. It's a matter I am very close with (which explains a lot about how I turned out when I grew up), so it's not as if I know nothing about the subject. And sorry if people freak out over my character choices. Clowns, though. Kinda . . . The one option. *cough* Anyway, that was my warning. I'm not trying to discourage people from reading. Just discouraging ignorance. This chapter has nothing heavy in it, but yeah. It's not supposed to be adorable or kinky. It's . . . Pretty messed up. I'm sorry if this brings anything up from the past for some people. You have my sympathy and my heart, and you can PM me if you want to talk to someone about it. I won't turn anyone away for whatever reason. I'm sorry. Stay strong.**

**-Aviss**

* * *

_**Pick me up, hose me down.**_

_**I'm sorry, boys, about the dirty night clowns.**_

"No, Mama! I don't wanna go to school!"

Porrim Maryam sighed roughly and pinched the bridge of her nose. She'd never had any problems with her sweet boy before, aside from the occasional disagreement leading to a very unscary-actually-kind-of-cute glare on his part and a small smile on hers. Karkat was the perfect child, really, and she loved him dearly, but she didn't exactly like his attitude right then.

She'd told him he'd be going to school last week, and he acted like he was all about it, but now . . . The boy had been hiding from his mother in strange places, and she was trying to get him out from behind the fridge with bribes and a spray bottle full of water. She always thought she was a good mother. But maybe she'd keep this incident to herself so her friends won't judge her too harshly and continue hating her for her kids loving her, having a rocking body, and making a lot of money.

"Baby," she cooed sweetly, tossing the bottle aside and forcing her breath to even out. "Your sister goes to school. Don't you want to be a big boy and go to school like Kanaya?"

His sister was his weak spot. He'd do anything to be like her. She was ten years older than he was, and he admired her so much for her maturity, smarts, and endless talent. Of course, he had no idea that she was human and had flaws like everyone else; he only saw her as God and she could do no wrong. Just then, Kanaya popped up beside her mother and leaned over the counter to see her baby brother behind the fridge.

"Oh, Karkat, it's filthy back there," she said softly, holding out a hand for him to grab. "How about we get you bathed and dressed and ready for school? You'll like it. I promise."

Immediately, the boy was throwing himself upon her arm and clinging to it for dear life as she pulled him from the depths of kitchen hell. Porrim thanked her daughter and skipped to start a bath for the little snot that was her offspring. She adored her children more than anything, but _her_ weak spot was the many expressions of her son. He was the spitting image of her husband, but was so much more expressive than Kankri. While her spouse more or less kept his emotions shut in, Karkat let one know just what he thought by a raise of his eyebrows, a short grimace, or the widening and narrowing of his eyes. He didn't like to talk all that much, but that had no effect on whether or not you could determine his response due to such an array of facial functions.

It took all of Porrim's willpower not to giggle insanely at her son's adorable glare as she rinsed his hair off in the tub. The little splash of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose did nothing to help his attempt at ferociousness. He wasn't pleased that his sister had already left to go to her high school and that he was "trapped" in his mother's care. He focused on his mom's tattoos in an attempt to ignore the evil bath around him. They were black and swirly, along her arms and chest, somehow elongating her body in an almost magical way. He'd always liked them, and was surprised when he found out that not all people have them. At least all of the beautiful girls had to have them, right? Nope. And that destroyed his world for a few days as he questioned his life choices and debated drinking. Not that that would help because milk just doesn't cut it anymore, and juice was no different. He didn't see the appeal, honestly. They just made his stomach hurt when he drank too much.

Another thing that always fascinated him was his mother's piercings. When he was a baby, he liked to pull on the ones in her eyebrows, and the one on her bottom lip still feels weird when she kisses him. It didn't really bother him, but he was also crushed by the knowledge that not everyone wanted piercings or even liked them. He was pretty pissed when his mother told him that not everyone thinks she's pretty, either. The hell she wasn't! She was the prettiest woman ever, and he was proud she was his mom. Not that he really liked her all the much when it came to bath time. He didn't flail or throw a fit like some children, but he knew she got the hint when he narrowed his eyes and twitched his nose a little in disgust at the situation. He didn't like to be dirty, no, but he didn't like to be nude in front of anyone, not even his mother. Especially not his father. That was always so awkward.

He held his breath as the spray of water from the shower head got in his face and shook his head as the water ran down from his forehead to his chin. He hated that part. But that meant it was over and he unplugged the tub and yanked the towel from Porrim's well-manicured hands to cover his boyhood disdainfully, demanding she turn around so he could dry off. She raised her hands defensively, said a strained, "Yes, sir!" and left to get his clothes.

She waited patiently outside the door for him to allow her back in and dressed him in a gray and black striped sweater and thick black pants. She made a note to make more winter clothes for her son, as he'd almost outgrown all that she'd already made for him. She was quite proud of her work. She made all the clothes for her entire family and they always looked so wonderful and well put together. She had a few careers and plenty of experience. She was a model, a clothes designer and maker, and a cosmetologist. When she was younger, she was an escort. Though her family told her she should be ashamed of such a thing, she only stopped because she met her husband in such a business, and that was how she afforded her schooling and housing and other various living expenses. She often wondered if she should tell her children about it one day, but decided she'd wait. A long time. Like, on her death bed long. Maybe. Eh.

"Mama, why can't you just homeschool me?" Karkat whimpered in the hall, sitting down against the wall and looking over his math book. Kindergarten got a lot harder since Porrim was a kid, she noted. So many new rules.

She sighed and slid down the wall next to her baby, looking over his shoulder to make sure he understood just what he was doing. "Darling, I'm so busy with work, as is your father, and I honestly don't have the patience to repeatedly go over things with anyone. Plus, when you get older, I'll have no idea how to do the things I'm supposed to be teaching you. Calculus was a drunken couple of decades ago."

The boy chuffed slightly and rolled his eyes. "You homeschooled Kanaya."

"Only for a few years, love. We were a lot less busy then."

Her son shook his head and read off all of the problems and answers on the two pages he was on perfectly, and shut the book dramatically, tossing it to his side and hitting his head against the wall behind him. "This is stupid . . ."

Porrim looked at her beloved sadly, not wanting him to leave her side and enter the dangerous world of public domain without her. She trusted no one. She knew how people were. And school was so shitty for her that she didn't want either of her kids to go. But they needed to be socialized and she made it a point to take them out if they told her they wanted to leave. On another hand, she hated to see her precious baby boy sad for any reason. So she did what any mother would do in that situation: Tickle fight.

"Ah! Mom! Stooop!"

She tickled his sides and neck and feet like a mad woman, making various scary beast noises and laughing maniacally as her son pleaded and begged for her to take his life instead. Yeah, definitely her husband's son. Such drama. When he hit the point where she was sure he'd pee himself, she heard a slam from the other side of the wall and they both stopped what they were doing and stared at the light green paint on the barrier like they could see through it.

"Would you two shut up, _please_? I'm trying to do work here."

Porrim rolled her eyes and winked at the almost terrified kid beneath her, calling out, "Ah, yes, Massah! My apologies. I won't be doing it again, Massah. Please don't whip me no more!"

"Haw-haw. Really, what are you teaching our son, dear?"

The tall woman giggled at her husband's retorts and banged on the wall obnoxiously for a full minute before grabbing her son and carrying him bridal style to the living room to put on shoes and a coat and walking outside to wait for the bus with his bag in tow.

"Remember these words, my love," she said seriously, holding the boy by the shoulders and looking into his scarlet eyes. "School is supposed to be a fun and safe place to learn and make friends. If anyone, and I do mean anyone, makes you feel scared or hurt, tell a teacher. If they do nothing, tell me. I will go in there and talk to them. And if that doesn't work, I'll gank all the stupid bitches who dare mess with my baby."

Karkat gasped a little and covered his mouth, eyes wide as he squeaked, "Mommy! You said a swear!"

Porrim smiled and tilted her head to the left. "Oh, did I? I don't think I did."

The pale child giggled a little and hugged his mom as the bus stopped slowly in front of their driveway. "I won't tell Daddy, I promise."

She smiled bigger and squeezed her son tightly before kissing his cheek and saying, "I love you so much, babe. Have a good day. I'll be waiting for you when you get off the bus. Oh, and be nice to everyone. You never know who will get attractive when they get older or who'll bring a gun to school. Bye, baby!"

Karkat kissed her back, said, "I love you, too," grabbed his bag and hopped on the bus quickly.

He wasn't at all eager for his first day of school, but he was five now, and technically a man, so he had to be brave and act like it wasn't a big deal even when he was pretty scared about being without his mom for the first time. Every seat seemed to be filled, his house being the last stop before the bus arrived at the school, and he was ready to sit in the aisle as he reached the back of the bus when a strange-looking guy waved him over and patted his seat to let him know he could sit by him. Karkat was wary, being taught to be on guard when it came to unknown persons, but sat next to the teenager anyway, head held high, eyes forward, avoiding any contact with the guy like he was a terminal disease.

The teen seemed a bit put-off and looked at his mohawked friend in the seat behind him, asking, "The fuck is this kid's beef?"

Said kid with the unspiked mohawk shrugged and laughed a little. "Uh, who cares?"

"Hm. Ey, lil motherfucker!"

Karkat jumped slightly at the intense volume of the dude's voice and looked over to his left like he was just insulted in the worst way. "Excuse me?" he asked, voice regal, moving his hand to himself like a true prude.

"Ah, there we go. Ya finally looked at me. So you ain't a blind little shit." The boy raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth in shock and horror at the teen's vulgar language, but said dirty birdie continued on, laughing at Karkat's face. "'Kay, so, my name's Gamzee Makara, and I been at the motherfucking school my whole school-goin' life, so I know everything about it and how to get the fuck around. I could be quite fucking useful to ya, baby. What's your name, ladykiller?"

The pale child was too horrified to say anything. He stared in awe at how loud and gross this guy was. But . . . He was slightly impressed with how freely he said swear words, like he just didn't care about the consequences of saying such shrewd things. Of course, he'd never let that guy know he was anything but disgusted. He turned his nose up to the creepy man and crossed his arms. "Perhaps you should watch your mouth, sir? It's impolite to say such things, and trashy to do so in front of a stranger. Not to mention I'M FIVE."

It was Gamzee's turn to be shocked and impressed. His eyes widened at the kid's language and sophisticated mannerisms. His blank stare grew quickly to a large grin and he laughed wholeheartedly, slapping the child's back softly. "You're one funny little shit, kid! Damn, wish I met ya before my senior year. You're better than cable. Anyway, name, kid. Gimme your name."

"Ugh, why should I? You're creepy. Who even does this to a kid?"

"Me. Now tell me your name."

Crimson eyes narrowed at violet ones, attempting to drive his unwillingness to cooperate with the lanky teen through his thick skull. However, after minutes of unblinking warfare, the kid gave up and said, "Fine. I'm Karkat Vantas. My mom said she'd gank anyone who messed with me, which I'm pretty sure means spank, so you should probably be nice to me."

"Oh yeah? Was that your mom out there with you?"

"Yup."

"Then maybe I'll mess with you on purpose. Wouldn't mind a fox like that spankin' me. Am I right, guys?"

Karkat turned to see four other teenagers nodding in agreement. The boys, a tan kid with copper eyes and a slicked-back black mohawk and a pale kid with purple eyes and wavy black hair with a purple streak in it pushed back out of his bespectacled face, seemed more enthusiastic than the girls, a light-skinned girl with long black hair and purple eyes behind pink glasses and a short girl with pale skin and red eyes with wavy, long black hair.

The short girl pursed her red lips and said, "Gamzee, aren't you being just a tad terrible to this child?"

The tan kid snorted and shook his head. "No, he's being hilarious. Maybe you should chill out, Aradia?"

"You were so much nicer before you became 'best friends' with this clown."

"Okay!" the other girl said loudly. "No fighting now. It is our duty to be good examples for this young man."

"Yeah, like that's possible," the other guy replied, rolling his eyes. "Gam's already shown his ass."

"Like you helped."

"Ah, Fef! That's not fair, I-"

"Just wanted people to like you?"

"H-hey!"

Gamzee chuckled softly and looked back at his new seat buddy. "Sorry 'bout them. They're crazy fuckers. Not like me. I'm totally cool."

"You wear makeup like my mommy," Karkat said dully, looking completely bored of everything. "She says it's okay for boys to wear makeup, too, but I think it makes you look creepier. Too heavy."

The odd man laughed again and nodded, "Yeah, your ma's pretty smart. That's kinda the point?"

"Why would you want people to fear you or think you're a freak?"

Silence. It wasn't awkward or weird, but it was disturbingly quiet. That was a very good question. Gamzee put a finger on his pointy chin as he thought about it, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed. Eventually, he looked back at the boy and said, "Because I don't want people to get near me."

"You're pretty chatty for a loner."

"You're pretty smart for a five-year-old."

"I've got smart parents and a perfect sister; of course I'm smart."

"Touché. Anyway, Karkat, you're a cool kid. Never met a kid I could actually hold a decent conversation with. Or not want to kill. Gold star for you."

Karkat couldn't help but blush a little at that. Despite his outward coolness in the situation, he was pretty intimidated by these older kids, especially Gamzee, but he also thought they were cool and unique and he'd very much like to grow up to be so fearless and creative with his looks. His mother wouldn't object, he knew, but it would be some years before he could do anything like that. He'd completely forgotten about it being his first day of school ever, his own age hitting him again hard with a pain he'd never felt before. He'd learn later that it was inferiority.

"Um, thanks," he said quietly.

"So, wanna be buds?"

"What?"

"Would. You. Like. To. Be. My. Friend."

"You're a little old, huh?"

"Age is just a number. You're probably smarter and more mature than most of my classmates."

"With you as an example, probably."

"Damn, you're quick-witted."

"Mom's side. Anyway, I'll be your friend if you stop swearing so much."

Gamzee smiled down at this weird, awesome kid and flipped his wavy hair out of his face some, humming quietly in thought before nodding in agreement. "Sure, kid. I'll cut the sh—poop. For you."

Karkat smiled back, albeit mischievously, and said, "Good. Then I'll be your friend."

"Awesome! Because I got so much stuff to show ya here to impress your little kid friends and be their God. Are you ready for this power?"

The boy stared at the older kid seriously and nodded. "Yes. I am ready. Let's do this."

Aradia sighed softly and leaned against the mohawked kid gently, muttering, "Another one bites the dust."

Her companion smiled at her sadly and asked, "Why do you have to be so negative about Gamzee? He's so cool."

"Blinded by the pedestal you've put him on, Tavros. So young to be taught so much wrong. Perhaps his ending won't be as pleasant as yours."


	2. There's Something Wrong With Me

**AN: Okay, so this goes a little deeper into the main subject, but it still isn't too awful yet. I apologize for torturing you guys this way.**

* * *

_**Earth does break the things that we make,**_

_**Like model planes and cuppy cakes.**_

"Um, hello. My name is Karkat Vantas. I'm five years old. And . . . I'm new. But I guess you knew that, huh?" Karkat stared at the soft carpeted floor of his new classroom, feeling his face heat up in sheer embarrassment. He'd never had to do something so humiliating before. It was the first day of school, and almost all of the kindergarteners were new, aside from the few who were privileged enough to go to preschool, but it still felt so stupid. He was the only one to stop talking during his introduction, and he silently cursed Gamzee for not telling him that he had to do something so senseless.

He looked up at his teacher, Ms. Crocker, and bit his cheek softly before saying, "I don't know what else to say, ma'am."

The plump woman smiled softly, calming the boy's quaking nerves a bit, and replied, "Well, what do you like to do?"

What he liked to do? He didn't really do much of anything. He liked to be around his family as much as possible, but the thought made him homesick and he was a man, dammit. Men shouldn't feel anything. That was what the television programs told him, anyway. No, that answer was too wimpy. One of his classmates – Dave, was it? – said he liked to rap. Maybe he could say something like that? But . . . What was cool like that? It was hopeless. He'd ruined his first impression and now everyone surely thought he was a weird loser!

Wait. Just maybe! "I can read minds."

The whole class gasped in awe and he felt a small smirk slide on his face at his brilliance and he would've bowed and blown kisses had he lacked more self control.

"Liar."

Well, shit. The freckled lad snapped out of his ego stupor and looked up to see the Dave kid standing up with his arms crossed. The boy was about as pale as Karkat and had almost white blonde hair, though his eyebrows were quite dark and his eyes were obscured with thick, pointy sunglasses. At first, Karkat felt like he should've given up completely and let the other students eat him out of shame, but something in him clicked together and he put his hands on his hips and sneered at the albino before him.

"Oh, yeah?" he shot back, full of sass and fire. "What proof do you have of my deceit?"

Dave was not taken aback by his opponent's full vocabulary, much to said opponent's dismay, and shook it off like a spot of dirt. "What proof do you have of such incredible abilities? That ish don't exist in real life, bro. Get yourself together or get in the nut house."

The class "Oooh'd" in unison, ready for a smackdown like rabid animals. How vicious other children seemed to be. Luckily, Karkat _did_ have some backup for his claims. He'd watched enough documentaries and romance films to get a good feel of the human mind, and he'd be damned if he didn't get to school this kid on his amazing talents.

He flipped his black hair out of his face before smiling sweetly and saying, "Aw, you poor thing. You know so little. Alright, I'll shut you up. You're calling me out because you're insecure with yourself and lack any other outlets for you to express your superiority. School is your kingdom, where you feel strong and safe, and you want no one challenging you for any reason. I'm guessing your home life is a bit of an unstable mess, so you proved yourself in pre-k and here I am, trying to take the only thing you have away from you and you're not gonna have that. But the thing is . . . It doesn't have to be like that. And a part of you knows this, which is why you're holding back so much of what you could say. Tell me if I'm wrong here."

The other boy remained silent for what was a long, tension-filled minute, but slowly uncrossed his arms and clapped a bit before lifting his shades, revealing bright red eyes not unlike Karkat's. He smiled and said, "You're alright, kid."

"Alright, then!" Ms. Crocker chimed in, slapping her hands on her chair as she sat up to go to the SmartBoard at the front of the classroom. "Now that the male dominance has subsided, let's get to work here."

The work wasn't anything new, since the requirements for the school was that future students already had to know how to do basic math and spell at least fifty big words and know their meanings. The only thing that really got Karkat was the fact that he had to learn how to type. He never wanted that sort of power, even when his mother would offer to let him look something up or play on the computer. It felt so unnatural. But he wasn't half bad at it. The orange, rubber keyboard covers were a bit annoying, though, and he slouched out of the "correct typing posture" a lot out of rebellion, but it wasn't horrible. A lot of the other kids struggled with it and became distracted easily, but he was not one to let people get the better of him, so he stubbornly stuck to his task like his life depended on it, going back and correcting things to make them absolutely perfect. He and Dave even somehow managed to form a friendly rivalry, fingers flying fast upon the small keyboards like tiny flashes of lightning. Their computer teacher was quite impressed.

The was a girl in front of the boys that wasn't doing much of anything. She just sat there, eyes hidden behind pointy glasses with red lenses, and rubbed her fingers along a maskless keyboard for the entire hour. The teacher knew exactly what she was doing, but said nothing and didn't even get her in trouble. Karkat was quite confused, to say the least. When they were escorted out to go back to their homeroom, he looked at her computer screen and felt a chill run down his spine. It said, "I'm Terezi Pyrope and I can't see this pretty day we're having."

The girl wasn't there in the morning, and he wondered if she'd gotten into an accident on the way to school. But that would be weird, because what sort of parent would find out something blinded their kid and then send them to school that same day anyway? Instead of constantly wondering about it, he decided to ask her straight up to avoid any confusion and maybe he'd get a friend out of it.

"Hey there," he said quietly, sitting next to her at the round snack table in the back of the class.

The girl said nothing, putting her head down more to hide behind her thick, black hair. She opened a small brown bag and pulled an apple and a box of chocolate soy milk out of it. Crumpling the bag and setting it next to her gently, she twisted the stem from the apple and twirled it in her hands slowly. "Hi," she finally said, voice soft and incredibly quiet.

Karkat frowned slightly and unzipped his small snack box with the cool superheroes on it. Grabbing a container of raspberries, he sighed and said, "You don't want to talk," before popping one into his mouth.

The girl smiled a little and took a big bite of her apple, chewing it carefully and thoughtfully. "Mm, maybe it's something else," she muttered after swallowing her chunk of apple. "Why do you want to talk to me?"

He shrugged but remembered she was blind and said, embarrassed, "Uh, well, you seem pretty cool. Am I not supposed to want to talk to you?"

She turned her face to his and got closer and closer until her nose was against his cheek. Karkat tensed up significantly and shuddered when he felt, and heard, her sniff his face.

The golden-skinned girl grinned in an unsettling way and said, "Wow, you smell good. You're the best smelling thing my nose has ever sniffed upon. Are your eyes . . . Red?"

Karkat's eyes widened and he had to purposefully control his breaths before exhaling out, "Yes, they are."

"I'm Terezi," she giggled, extending her hand. "Terezi Pyrope. As you've probably figured out, I can't see. At all. But I can smell and lick things to get a good idea of what they look like."

"H . . . How does that even work? I get touch, but . . . Ew."

Terezi laughed sweetly and grabbed his hand since he wouldn't take it of his own accord, shaking it aggressively because her manners were just wonderful and everyone should know it. She leaned in again and licked his chin, mouth, and nose in a clean, straight line.

Karkat pressed his lips together and stared blankly at the freakish child in front of him. His mind short-circuited when she put her warm, wet tongue to his face. That was it. Something so strange and gross and random just broke the kid and it was over for him. Well, maybe not.

"You l-licked my face," he squeaked in terror, pressing his fingers to his mouth lightly. "You put your tongue on my mouth . . . W-why?"

The dog-girl grinned wider and said, "I wanted to see you better. Freckles, huh?"

"This is so weird and it is so wrong! What about germs? Do we have to get married now? I can't afford to be a father, Terezi!"

"Well, too bad! Now what's my husband's name?"

Oh. Right. He never said. Wiping his red face off on his sleeve, he shook his head and said, "My name is Karkat Vantas. Gah! Quit licking me! It's so gross, and it's totally freaking me out!"

"Sorry, sorry! Your hands are just so soft; I wanted to know what kind of lotion your mom put on you. Brown sugar, mmmm."

Perhaps the boy's breaking point was reached long ago, for he could only laugh at his new friend's odd abilities and admire her for being so positive when she can't even see what she looks like. She was born that way, apparently, and had to learn how to cope with it. Her mother was also blind, and every night before her daughter would fall asleep, she'd tell her different ways to see. But her mother had died shortly after her birth, but Terezi remained adamant that it was her mom and not some messed up dream or monster or something. Karkat couldn't really argue due to the success of the skills she was taught, unbelievable though they were. He'd have a lot to tell his mother when he got home.

Speaking of. He wondered every now and then if he should mention his older friend to his mom at all. He couldn't help but feel something was off about the teenager and there was some guilt hiding in his mind about being friends with someone like that. He was afraid of his mom telling him to stop talking to the boy. But why would she even say that? Why did he think she would make him end it so much? Eventually, he decided he'd wait to tell her, which flooded him with more guilt and some other new bad feelings that made his stomach hurt and his body shake. His teacher asked once if he needed her to call his mommy to pick him up, and he almost said yes, but he wanted badly to see Gamzee on the bus and shook his head and told her he was fine. Just fine.

But he wasn't. There was something eating at him, tearing him apart piece by piece, but he was too young and ignorant to realize the danger he was putting himself in. He would not truly find out for many, many years, but instead mistake those vomit-inducing horrible feelings for love.

His teacher dismissed the bus riders, and Karkat got out of his seat excitedly to meet Gamzee outside the kindergarten building to go to the bus together. He noticed that Terezi was still seated and he hopped up to her first and said, "Hey, it's Karkat."

"I know," she replied, smiling kindly. "You have a very unique walk. I'm a car rider. My daddy will come to get me. You're going to miss the bus."

"Nah. It's okay. I just wanted to say thanks for being my second friend today. You're really awesome." He gave her a hug, which she wasn't expecting but quickly returned, and licked her face.

"Ew, it's so warm!" she squealed, wiping her face and laughing hysterically.

"You're welcome!" he shot back, running out the door with his bag dragging behind him like a devoted servant.

Gamzee was where he said he'd be and his smile was huge when he finally saw his little buddy running toward him with a large grin on his face. He was starting to worry that the kid forgot about where he was supposed to go. Or worse. His stomach shifted in conflict at his overwhelming relief for the boy's safety and the dizzying elation he felt just by seeing him. He tossed aside the latter feeling and walked ahead with the five-year-old skipping beside him merrily.

"I take it you had a good day, huh?" he asked, allowing the kid to walk up the bus's stairs first and scoot into their seat happily.

"Yeah!" Karkat almost shouted, but calmed himself a tidbit before continuing. "I made another friend and kept a kid in his place. It was awesome."

The older of the pair chuckled softly and patted the little one's head affectionately, though stopping himself in the middle of the action to place his hand behind his back. "Uh, that's good, I guess. I didn't know kindergarten was so rough that ya gotta put bit—kids in their place. But you seem much more childlike right now. How immature of you, my lord."

The boy's pale face turned a soft shade of pink and he rolled his eyes dramatically, elbowing the skinny teen next to him roughly. "Oh, be quiet. Anyway, I painted you a picture during crafts."

Gamzee raised an eyebrow and leaned his upper body over the other to see what he was pulling out of his bag. A small hand pushed his face away and he snorted slightly before the picture was presented to him properly. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it pulled strange and foreign feelings from the teenager that made his throat get tighter when he wondered what they meant. He focused hard on the soft and careful strokes of brown and red, the thin lines of gray, and the soft area of black. It was a bus seat. Their seat. He smiled brightly and ignored the strange wetness in his eyes as he looked down at the boy before him, who looked up at him with worried eyes and twiddled his thumbs in anxiety.

"It's the epitome of perfection, lil bro," he said warmly, holding the picture to his chest. "You're one heck of an artist. Can I fold this to put it in my binder?"

Karkat's expression melted to one of excitement and he let go of the breath he was holding and laughed softly. "Ah, yeah. You can fold it. I'm really glad you like it. I've never used water colors before. The paper feels so weird."

The two chatted about their days mindlessly and shared more than a few laughs. Gamzee ignored the stares that bored into him, judging him, wondering what his intentions were because someone like him can't befriend a child without something else going on. Well, fuck them. They didn't know shit. The bus ride was the most confusing moment of his life. He was the happiest he'd ever been, talking to some freaky little kid, yet the most angry he'd ever been, staring back at all the disgusted faces, staring into himself to wonder if maybe they were right. No. Fuck no! He wasn't some sicko pervert. He could never do something like that!

And yet he was relieved to be getting off the bus, despite the heart-breaking sadness on Karkat's face to see him go.

"I'll see ya tomorrow, bro," he assured the boy, patting his head again before making to leave. But he was caught by the arm and pulled into a hug and his heart stopped and he found he couldn't breathe anymore. He hugged back quickly before running down the aisle and skipping all of the steps down, instead jumping from the top and landing clumsily on the pavement below.

He ran inside his house and slammed to door behind him, panting heavily, shaking like he was having a seizure. Wrapping his arms around himself, he melted against the door and tried to keep his heart from pounding so furiously, afraid his roommates might hear and know just what sort of demented thoughts just choked his brain and made him go stupid. That wasn't right. He wasn't like that. He wasn't his dad. No, he'd never be like his dad.

The teenager ran to his room and locked the door, sitting on the floor to sob into himself. "I'm a sick fuck," he whimpered to himself, clawing at his arms around his legs, hitting his head against his knobby knees to shut himself up. "Goddammit, I'm fucking disgusting. I'm so sorry, little man. I'm so sorry . . ."

Even if he felt those backwards thoughts nag at his brain, tugging and pulling on his will to make him fall, he wouldn't give into them. He refused to give them the satisfaction. He couldn't, wouldn't, do something like that. He could control himself.

Right?


	3. For All These Demons That Hound Me

**AN: I was very sick while writing this. I had to stop because I was shaking too badly. Be careful, please. Again, if this brings anything up from your past, I can talk with you and try to help as best as I can. I'm sorry. I love you. **

* * *

_**I can't clear the leaves from here;**_

_**They're too far under the brush this year.**_

Some days were harder than others, he'd remember. The desire would be so great, like a basic human need to live. It would become all he could think about, even though he knew well that it was wrong and that to act upon such will-diminishing thoughts would mean the end of his life as he knew it. Not that such a life would be missed, but he didn't want to break something that he loved so much. And he did love the boy. More than anyone should've ever been allowed to love something. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he came to think of the child as his reason for living. He'd become obsessed, and he knew it, hated it, was disgusted by it, but he could do nothing to calm his aching mind and go on about his days like nothing was trying to drag him into the lowest depths of hell.

A part of him believed that he may have already been in hell. In fact, on the nights that he lost control of himself and gave in to the fantasies that raced in his mind, he _knew_ he was in some sort of hell made especially for him. He would always cry after he finished drawing phantom breaths and moans from a figment of his sickest imagination, ashamed and nauseous at what he'd become. Some nights he would throw up as the dark reality would settle back in around him. He should not think such things. He should not want to think such things. And yet, that's all he seemed to do.

The days that he saw his obsession, his lord, his very life, were always the worst. A fresh flutter in his guts and an extra thump to his heart were the first reactions to seeing such a perfect human being. It would always happen in a specific order: Butterflies begging to be set free, heart quickening with the need to touch and bound to explode if he ever were to do as it said, breath heavy and becoming hard to control as the first smile was bestowed upon his hideous existence, sweat beading across his forehead as he focused all of his energy on keeping himself in check. But the the boy would touch _him_, hug _him_, climb on _him_, and it was almost too much. One time, he'd made a yelping noise when he was gripped just a little too tightly, and his love asked if he was okay and if he needed anything and the older of the pair had to keep saying how okay he was and that it wasn't anything he did even though it was always everything he did. Another time, tears welled up within his eyes at the pure want in his brain and he was asked if he was alright and that only made him begin sobbing and apologizing repeatedly to a child that had no idea what he was always craving. And on yet another occasion, his worst moment, he had to roughly excuse himself to find release from the horrid imagery he gained when a small hand went too low.

He was furious at himself constantly and was furious with everyone around him as well. He was the angriest at whatever thing made him this way. Why had he been cursed to bear this cross of paiderastia, and with such a sweet and innocent boy? It wasn't okay to him, or to anyone around him, but he attempted to make himself feel better by saying that he was genuinely in love with Karkat and that it wasn't so bad because he was the only person he'd felt that way about. He'd been called a pedophile before, but that wasn't necessarily true, having had no former loves of children, and that was how he justified himself, though a big part of him became quite sick at the other part that was actually willing to _justify _it at all.

A few times he'd tried to escape any further contact in order to save himself and the boy, but he was always found somehow. Perhaps it was because he wanted to be found, because he certainly didn't want to leave his object of hysterical affection, but he remained adamant that it was only because Karkat was so good at finding him. And for no other reason. It did get a little better when he'd graduated and no longer had to see the beautiful face every weekday, but said perfect thing told his mother all about his grown-up friend and how he was going to miserable without him. And that was sweet, really, but he'd almost blew his brains out right then and there out of fear of going to jail or worse. However, the creator of his wrong friend didn't seem to hate him right off the bat. She invited him for dinner to see just who and how he was, and he made a good enough impression, but she still seemed a bit iffy on his influences on her son. He made it a point to be anything but himself at the meeting to insure that he would not be put behind bars, and the boy's sister grew to like such a polite man. That struck a chord within his conniving mind and he hatched a plan that would keep him close to Karkat.

One day, while over at the house of God, he asked Kanaya to go out with him. He'd formed a good relationship with her out of sneaky lies and deceitful manners and she accepted his offer immediately. He didn't like that he had to spend money on the woman, but it was a good excuse to keep himself attached to the household. His more sensible parts cried to him constantly about what a horrible idea it was and that it would end badly, and he knew that to be true, but he needed to be around Karkat more than he feared consequences. It was funny, he thought, that he should go down in the same way as his father, but he was much trickier and smarter than his old man and he would not be caught so easily. No, he was sure to succeed at his act for quite a bit longer, keeping himself under control far better than his father ever could. Poor bastard would roll over in shame in his hole in the ground at how much wiser his son was.

Wiser, yes, but not inhuman. He knew he'd fall from grace eventually, but hadn't realized how much sooner that time would come than any prediction he'd had.

Four years after they'd met, Karkat found himself busy at a touch pool at an aquarium while on an adventure with his best friend and partner in crime. He'd never been to one before and, upon hearing this news, Gamzee had taken a day off from school and work to take him to the magical underwater world in which he could view and breathe comfortably. The twenty-two-year-old smiled lovingly at how excited the little guy got over such small things in life. Like all times he was overjoyed, though, Karkat caught himself and cooled it down to look like less of a kid in front of his idol he so worshipped. He loved his family very much, and knew they were awesome in their society's hierarchy, but he still thought Gamzee was cooler than all of them.

He hopped down from the steps of the pool and walked back over to his companion with a soft smile on his serene face. He'd never felt so at ease before, and he decided it must have been the pale lights combined with the sounds of rushing water. He took the tall adult's hand in his and asked, "Where to now?"

As usual, much to Karkat's disappointment, Gamzee pulled back his hand at first before holding it stiffly in the child's grip. The boy oftened wondered why this man hated his touch, retreated from it so heartlessly, but kept his hurt feelings to himself and pretended nothing was bothering him even though he felt like crying every time it happened. And it happened every. Single. Time.

Gamzee also pretended nothing was bothering him as his forced smile danced upon his lips in an unsure and careful manner. He turned to look around him and walked slowly, Karkat being pulled along hesitantly, toward a large map set up not far from the touch pool. They were about in the middle of the large aquarium and he named off all the places nearby and where they lead to, leaving it up to his desire to tell him where to go.

"Why do you always do that?" Karkat asked, gripping the other man's hand harder, much harder than he's ever touched him before, voice dripping with frustration. He glared up into the face of his friend, which was unusually red, as his icy stare was being avoided by purple eyes glancing back and forth from the shiny floor to the decorative plants at the other end of the room.

"Do what?" came the uneasy reply as he tried to sneakily wiggle his hand from the cage the nine-year-old had made for him.

"You never tell me where to go; I _always_ have to say what we do next. It irks me sometimes."

The skinny man snorted a little bit, repeating "irks" with humor before clearing his throat awkwardly and thinking about how to reply to that. Well, the truth would be alright, yeah? "Because," he said softly, dragging his eyes back to look in the angry red ones in front of him, "you're my lord and savior and I will do as you say. I'm unfit to lead such a perfect specimen of life."

He began to wonder if he'd maybe overdone it there and was about to apologize when his beloved finally mumbled, face turned toward the floor and hidden by shaggy hair, "If that's how you want it."

A genuine grin planted itself firmly on the adult's face and he bent down to see his God's expression out of curiosity and found that his face was as red as his eyes and his furrowed brows and frown were just too adorable for him to comprehend. His brain must have short-circuited, for he pressed his lips upon the boy's cheek and felt his heart stop completely when he realized what he had just done. He shot up immediately and took a step back, finally escaping Karkat's deathgrip on his hand, holding both of them to his mouth as he stared in wide-eyed disbelief at himself.

"Oh, God," he whispered, eyes filling with tears. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. Really, I-"

"It's fine," the fourth grader interrupted, holding out a hand to silence the giant. "Calm down. It was just a kiss."

Just a kiss? _Just a kiss_? Years he'd been agonizing over not even touching the boy and he thought nothing of a kiss from an adult man? Gamzee swore he had smoke pouring from his ears as his mind exploded and he did nothing, could do nothing, but stare at his four-year obsession in awe, confused and understanding and both lacking and having total control at once. Everything, every thought and feeling, hit him simultaneously and he began to feel dizzy and closed his eyes, holding his head with both hands, shaking it back and forth to put his Humpty Dumpty brain back together again.

"Are you okay? Gamzee?"

"Do they make brain Band-Aids?"

"Um, no?"

"Then I'll just walk it off."

The older man shook his head one last time and more or less held himself to keep his urges under wraps and deny himself of the physical contact his entire being craved. Karkat gave him an inquisitive look but said nothing about it, instead rolling his eyes and walking on, leaving Gamzee to follow much to his appreciation.

They toured the nautical slave pen in relative silence until it was time to go, when the younger decided he wanted a drink and then proceeded to spill it on himself, cursing his luck in embarrassed rage. Gamzee laughed a little and helped him take his shirt off, a sight he'd thought of many times, a fantasy he'd given into just as much. His heart had begun to beat irregularly and he looked away, forcing his hands to his chest to resist his dreams and their need to become a sickening reality. Karkat folded his shirt over his arm and narrowed his eyes at the adult before him, who'd become freakishly pale and fidgeted relentlessly.

"What's your deal today?" he asked, tossing the soiled shirt in the back of Gamzee's car, throwing the empty cup to the ground in an act of vengeance for it making him look foolish in front of the one person he had vowed never to look so stupid with. "Quit fussing. My mom won't be mad. It was only Sprite. It's not a big deal."

Gamzee snorted softly, fighting the urge to vomit on the pavement, stomach churning painfully with so many feelings at once. He smiled dumbly and looked back up from the ground that looked like such a beautiful place to pass out on, saying, "I know, I know. It's just . . . You're half-naked now, and . . . It's really . . ."

"You'd like it more if I was fully nude?"

"What?! N-no, it's not like that!"

Karkat laughed and slid into the back of the car gracefully, telling his partner to do the same.

Most of the time, it was as if he wasn't a child at all. He spoke well, didn't like to play or fight or get dirty, and kept himself and those around him in proper order. School was a nightmare for him with all the rambunctious kids and chaos, and he'd come to find out that he had severe OCD in which he must have order at all times. It was how he coped with . . . His friend here. Of course, that was a few years from this time and he thought he was just a really good child.

"God, it's like you're an adult trapped in a tiny body," Gamzee muttered while backing out of the parking lot. He was always amazed at the kid's intelligence and decision-making skills, but was less so after meeting the rest of his immediate family. They were all like that, really. He humorously wished he was a girl so he could have Karkat's babies, but it took a turn down a dark path when he admitted that he would probably try to get pregnant by the boy as soon as it was possible. Cringing to himself at his wicked thoughts, he held his eyes steady on the road to keep himself distracted. Also, he didn't want to kill his God in a car wreck because he was imagining himself giving birth to said God's children.

"I get that a lot," Karkat replied quietly, staring out the window with a bored look on his face. "Anyway, you're not wearing a suit today."

"How long have you been thinking of that complicated and mind boggling sentence?"

"Shut up. Do you have to wear one for work?"

"You just told me to shut-"

"Don't even. Just answer me."

"Yes, _sir. _Yeah, I gotta wear one for work. Sometimes my college has a professional day and I wear one for that, too. It's become so routine that I forget that I have other clothes and I'm all up and straightening my tie when I don't have a place to go. Like today. Almost wore one."

"I like them. You look very nice. Like a gentleman. Unlike how you actually are."

Gamzee smirked and glanced in the rear view mirror briefly to see the boy's smiling face looking back at him. "Hey, I don't swear around you no more, so get off my back."

"Maybe not, but sometimes you slip back into that nonsense that makes you sound like a grade A simpleton."

"Who even says 'simpleton' anymore? Are you really from the fifties or something? Do you have the Benjamin Button disease?"

"Documentaries, dictionaries, and Wikipedia. They're the real heroes here."

"Hahaha, wow. You regularly visit those mediums?"

"I have no friends. That's all I do."

"What a sad life you lead, my lord."

"And to you, too, sir."

It was easy to forget their age difference when they had such conversations, and perhaps that was why Gamzee didn't try to run from it anymore, but he wondered often if he'd slip up, and he wondered that with a fierce conviction when they got out of the car and he remembered that Karkat was shirtless. He wanted to touch. Just one touch, and he'd be okay. Just move a finger, only a little more . . .

"Gamzee, could I have one of your shirts? I'm really tired of being naked."

Fuck. So close. He whipped his hand back to his chest and nodded reluctantly, removing the shirt he was wearing and handing it to his companion. He still had another hour with the boy and certainly wasn't wasting it with his entire family, instead taking him to his place, knowing his roommates were absent. He sighed to himself and locked the door behind them, coming around to kick off his shoes and go to his room where Karkat was sitting on his bed, eying the environment intensely.

"You've rearranged some things," the boy said, flopping down on the bed with a tiny thud. The kid weighed nothing, was so small, yet he somehow managed to fill the older man's heart and soul completely.

"Good eye," he replied, laying down next to the child. "I know how much you hated the ICP posters and the bottles of Faygo everywhere."

Karkat shuddered in disgust and rolled over on his side to look at Gamzee. "How could you like being in such filth? And the soda bottles, too?"

"Hardy-har-har. I dunno, dude. It's like . . . I gotta be proper all ding-dong day, I gotta be clean all around for you . . . I just want a little freedom, a little mess, a little violence every now and then to keep myself going. I just sit here sometimes and cuss until I'm hoarse so I don't slip up with you or at school or work. I got all this rage and nowhere to use it."

"You could use it around me. I don't mind."

Gamzee choked on his spit at the words and blinked slowly at the kid beside him. Damn, had this guy been a freak all along? Did he even have to worry about being rejected or found out by outside forces if he spews shit like that all day? "What do you mean?" the Juggalo asked carefully, testing just how much he could get away with and wondering if he could get some of his prayers answered in the mean time.

"If you were to yell, or to hit things while hanging out with me, I wouldn't care. I only asked that you quit doing those things, swearing and being overall gross, to better yourself. But if you must, well . . . I won't tell."

The adult felt a prick on his skin and goosebumps cover his body at this new attitude, as well as noticing that he was being touched quite gently on his arm. He didn't pull away. No, in fact, he reached out his hand to run his fingers down Karkat's baby-soft face, nearly spilling over himself right there when his touch was reciprocated. He never thought that, maybe, Karkat wanted him, too. Yes. Yes, that had to be it. There couldn't be any other reason. He _wanted_ to be violated. Touched everywhere by this hand of undying servitude.

The smile he got melted his heart, quickened his pulse, and made his blood boil with a disturbing lust. "You finally let me touch you," Karkat said gently, smile growing bigger. "And you actually touched me, too."

Gamzee wanted to smile back, be happy with the words, pleased with the results of him trying so hard. But he found he was sickened instead, the sane part of him telling him to take the boy home, let the matter rest, and to leave it to die. Only trouble lurked within the options he was dying to choose from. He knew that, of course, and he knew that he was only going to make himself sicker with what he was going to do. "Did you want me to touch you?" he asked quietly, voice low and rough, choosing his words slyly.

"All the time. If there's anyone I want to be touched by, it's you."

_He doesn't know what he's saying. He's only nine. He doesn't understand what you mean. Don't you dare touch him. Don't hurt him. Take your hand back. Take him home. Please, don't ruin him. Don't be like Dad. It hurt you. Just don't do that to him!_

But . . . He wasn't any kid. He was Karkat. He was mature and seasoned and well aware of what he meant by those words. He knew the implications. He wanted to be touched. Then by God, he was going to get it.

Gamzee raised himself from the bed and hung over the kid like a predator claiming his prey. He didn't notice the sudden increase in heart rate. He didn't notice that those wide, red eyes were full of fear. He didn't notice the tensing of his muscles as he was kissed forcefully on his soft, pink lips. He wouldn't have cared if he did notice those things. The desire had eaten him whole, and there wasn't a way to get out.


	4. I Am Not A Lion I Am Only A Lamb

**AN: This has actually been written for a while, but . . . You know how these things are. I'm only uploading it now because of the profuse amounts of comments.**

**Seriously, guys. You're awesome. I couldn't ask for better readers.**

**I love you.**

* * *

_**Let**** them be buried – buried alive.**_

_**In their suits, in their ties.**_

_**Trees that shade the moves that they made,**_

_**In their suits, in their ties.**_

Porrim narrowed her eyes in thought, staring at her son who'd been sitting in the same spot without moving an inch for the past six hours. He'd been acting so different for the past couple of weeks: Distant, quiet, and utterly unresponsive. He would leave his room in the morning, but he'd say nothing to the people around him. Sometimes, he'd mutter to himself, words lost upon the ears of those who clearly were not meant to hear it. He would wake up, walk into the kitchen, sit at the table, and stare out the window until someone made him get up. He didn't blink half the time, either.

"Mom, Gamzee won't answer any of my calls or texts," Kanaya said, disrupting her mother's train of thought efficiently. "I'm a little worried about him. He said he was under a lot of stress lately, but . . . He's never not answered me before."

Porrim's eyebrows descended in a small flash of anger at her daughter's disregarding her own brother's behavior. "What of Karkat?" she asked, crossing her arms tightly against her chest to resist the urge to smack her oldest child across the face. "He's been weird lately. Do you not care about him?"

Kanaya sighed and rolled her eyes, shrugging dramatically. "He's always like that, Mom. It's nothing new. Jesus."

"No he's not," the forty-five-year-old muttered, grinding her teeth together in frustration at her own blood's nonchalance. There was definitely something wrong with her precious baby boy, and she had a feeling that Gamzee had something to do with it, but she couldn't exactly call him out on something until she had some sort of proof. As much as her motherly instincts told her to find that kid and beat the holy shit out of him, she kept herself in check and exercised more to focus on something else until her son finally told her something. She had also decided to call around and see if any therapist were see her son, because he was broken in some way, and she wanted to figure it out as soon as she could.

Karkat did not want to tell anyone what happened. He was scared and confused, but his twisted perception of love held him together in a hardly-mended version of himself that couldn't quite figure out how to be who he was. He couldn't stop thinking about it. The man over him, stripping him, touching him, kissing him. He'd wanted to cry then, but kept it inside. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to let them out. He'd let out a small scream when his most personal area was touched in a very ungentle manner, and he supposed that was what saved him. He was released and his captor, his idol, his best friend began to hyperventilate and sob and apologize repeatedly, getting on his knees and holding the boy's hands in his, head hung low as he somehow cried harder and begged for forgiveness, for Karkat to not say a word to anyone.

The boy didn't move as his partner freaked out. He only sat there in shock with tears in his eyes until the skinny man calmed down enough to listen to anything Karkat wanted to say. The nine-year-old stared up at the ceiling and told Gamzee that everything was okay and that he shouldn't worry; he wouldn't tell anyone. Not that he even wanted to. His family would think he was disgusting for doing that to his friend, and he was so lacking in other friends that he didn't have anyone to tell even if he wanted to. Terezi wouldn't want to hear about him seducing a man, anyway.

He saw Gamzee everywhere. He saw him even when he was asleep. But he especially saw him through his kitchen window, in the backyard behind a walnut tree. He would always wonder why the man just stood there like a mannequin, staring right at him, but never coming up to talk to him. He was devastated, really. He'd messed everything up. How could he be so stupid? Gamzee was so good to him and he had to go and ruin it by being such a fucking whore. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so badly, but found he couldn't. He tried many times to relieve the pain of his heart by letting hot tears flow endlessly from his ocular cavities, but they refused to cooperate and it made him angry. He was so mad at himself. He wished he could get into some horrible accident and be done with his life. It was over, anyway. There was no coming back, and Gamzee didn't want him anymore. How could he? He practically threw the kid out of his car when he dropped him off. Everything he had was just . . . Taken from him. Because he was stupid. He was _filthy_.

Karkat found he'd become obsessed with that tree, with the man lurking so carefully behind it, and he went out there one day to relieve himself of the maddening unknown and sat and stared unblinking at the ground before him, light breeze rustling the dead leaves from their undug graves. He wanted to see Gamzee, talk to him, touch him, but a large part of him tried to convince himself that the man was nowhere, could be nowhere but in his tiny, insignificant mind. Plus, he reminded himself, even if his friend _were_ there, he couldn't be there to see him. Which also reminded him: he should stop referring to Gamzee as his friend. They weren't friends anymore. He'd destroyed their friendship with his temptation.

"Hey, Karkles."

The boy's blood froze in his veins and he grasped at every tendril of iron will he had to make himself stay put. Whatever was wanted of him, it couldn't have been good. Maybe he was going to get the punishment he'd been waiting for for the past dragging weeks? He deserved it. Perhaps luck would be on his side and he'd be beaten so badly that he would die. Yes, that would be perfect.

"Hello, Gamzee," he replied monotonously, eyes drilling holes into the ground with their harsh stare.

The adult walked around from behind the tree and kicked a walnut idly before leaning against the trunk beside Karkat. He was nervous. He'd been standing outside the house every day, needing to say something to his God, but too ashamed and afraid to do anything but stare. Even when the child saw him, which he always did, he could do nothing except stand there and hope his beloved would come out to greet him. He was terrified that he was hated, that his company was no longer wanted and that maybe he was even going to go to jail. The latter thought was the furthest from his mind, but he couldn't fully deny the possibility. It was always, always an outcome to his weak will and atrocious obsession.

"How, uh, how are you?" he asked, cringing at the dumb words hanging from his mouth like drool. What an ignorant thing to open up with to someone he'd just assaulted. He was about to just go and put the barrel of a gun in his mouth when he was pleasantly surprised by Karkat turning his head to look at him with a smile. A smile, of all things!

Karkat wanted to cry. He wanted to bawl with sheer elation at being talked to. Gamzee still wanted to talk to him! He couldn't believe it! How could he have been so lucky? He'd basically attacked the man and yet his company was still welcomed, still wanted. His tiny heart beat in his chest rapidly at the stumbling words being spoken to him and he kept himself firmly planted to the ground, gripping the dead grass tightly to hold down the desire to jump up and hug his best friend horribly tight. Instead of doing what he so craved, he turned to look at his companion with a large, warm smile on his lips, trying to show his gratitude as much as humanly possible. He needed to make it all up to Gamzee as soon as he could. He didn't even care if he died trying. He had to fix this.

"I'm perfect now that you're here," he breathed melodiously, happier than he'd ever been before. "I thought it was over. I'm so sorry. I really missed you."

Gamzee wasn't stupid. No, he could read people so very easily. Street smarts were sort of his thing. He knew the boy was sincere. He was completely serious and believing every word he said. However, that didn't change the fact that the man had no idea why he was being apologized to or why he wasn't hated. He just stood there, one eyebrow raised in doglike confusion, trying to wrap his mind around it all. So . . . Karkat thought he was to blame? That wasn't right. He'd done nothing wrong. But if it kept him out of trouble, well . . . He could work with that.

"Everything's fine," he replied, smiling back and taking a seat beside his messiah. He leaned a little against the boy and chuckled quietly at the small gasp he got in response. "I just went a little crazy there. It's all good. I really missed you, too, bro."

The two caught up on things and smiled and laughed and it was as if nothing happened. They were still the best of friends and nothing could change that. Not even unwanted touching could tear them apart. They were convinced that they were simply meant to be.

Their perfect harmony took a sharp note when Kanaya walked up and stood over the two, glaring at her boyfriend with fire in her eyes. Karkat looked up at her and felt scared. What if she knew what he did to Gamzee? What if she hated him? Hated his friend? Cut them both out? Surely Gamzee would be devastated. Surely he'd begin to hate Karkat, too, for splitting them up. He began to sweat, his breaths came and went at light speed, he felt nauseated and ready to burst.

His fears were not at all calmed when his sister asked to speak to her boyfriend in private and the pat he received on his shoulder only made him long to have more time with his partner before he was hated and cast aside. Why did he have to do such a thing? Damn him for being so dirty!

The adults didn't go far and Karkat silenced his uneven breathing to hear them better. He was never one for eavesdropping, but his own life was at stake so he felt that his listening in was completely appropriate, if a little sneaky. He couldn't help himself, really. It was all he could do to keep from going into hysterics.

"I'm sorry," Gamzee said softly, sounding so ashamed. "My phone got broken by one of my roommates, then I got sick, and I just now got to feeling a little better. I actually came over to tell you this but your little brother found me first and I kinda owed it to him to talk a little."

Kanaya was silent for a while, but eventually sighed in defeat and admitted she'd overreacted a little because he always told her when something happened and she shouldn't have expected any differently. She apologized for doubting him and Karkat shuddered in repulsion when he heard them kiss after making up.

It was then that Karkat began to feel the cold stabs of jealousy. Acid rose in his throat and he glared at nothing in particular, becoming very angry and feeling disrespected. Gamzee was his friend first. His sister had no right to come between them and try to take the man away from him. That little bitch. That whore. Now he saw her for who she really was: a two-faced, sneaky, lying tramp. How dare she do this to him? He did nothing but worship her and this is how she repaid him? Oh, she'd get hers. In good time. He'd make sure of it.

Gamzee drove home feeling better than ever. His God still adored him, his façade as resident good guy was going smoothly, and his life was still in tact. Not bad, you sick fuck. Not bad at all. Though he couldn't get it out of his head that Porrim hated him a little. Shit, so did he. So should everyone. He lost most of his friends over the years due to his one-track mind that was focused only on Karkat. He really didn't have any likable qualities that were real. He really wasn't real at all. He was real enough around Karkat, but even then he stayed just a little too proper. Or maybe that was the real him now? He trained himself to be this classy guy for a kid he was wrongly in love with, and he acted like that great dude almost constantly so he wouldn't slip up, so maybe he transformed himself into a man with all the manners? He snorted at the thought and shook his head. No, he was still a vulgar douche at heart. _Now with twice the ick factor!_

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Gamzee started a bit and looked to his left. He didn't notice that anyone else had come home as he sat zoning out on the couch, ignoring the television completely for darker thoughts involving his special friend. He crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap to hide his desires and ignored the aching that screamed at him, begging him for release. He groaned and mentally told them he'd take care of it later.

"What?" he asked, irritated at the interruption, his mood descending to hellish depths in a record-breaking amount of time.

Tavros sat next to him, either ignoring the behavior or being so used to it that it meant nothing anymore, and took the remote off the arm of the couch to idly flip through channels on the guide. He looked over at his friend and said, "You were, like, smiling and nodding and moving your hands like a fucking freak. What's up with that?"

Oh. Well. How embarrassing. At least he hadn't become vocal about it like he usually did when he was alone. The things he'd say, the noises he'd make – he'd be in trouble for sure. They knew who Karkat was and he'd never, ever use another name to hide himself, as beneficial as it would be if he were to get caught. That was blasphemy, as far as he was concerned. A part of him twisted up in shame and yelled for him to stop thinking about it at all and to leave the child alone, but it was drowned out in the dreams and put into a box with locks covering it from top to bottom, making escape nearly impossible. It would get out every now and then and remind him that he had a conscience at one point in his life, but he would only puke a little and shove it back in the box in the depths of his existence. It would only cause trouble, he repeated every time it would sneak up on him.

He rolled his eyes at the beefy man next to him and said, "Just thinking about my girlfriend's choice ass." They knew Kanaya, too, and though she wasn't his preferred Vantas, she was still pretty hot as far as people went. He used to feel bad for kissing her, touching her, having sex with her, but he learned to ignore the bad feelings and justified them by saying she was good practice for the main event. She taught him all sorts of things and he would wonder if her brother would like the same things as she did. That was the only way he could do it, imagining all the things he'd do to Karkat if he were in the same position. That used to hurt him, too, but he grew cold and denied the existence of basic human emotions until he needed to call upon them to make a situation work in his favor. He more or less felt nothing.

Tavros laughed shortly and said, "Aw, man. She does have a great body. Sure you can't share her?"

"You know I would be okay with it; you'd just have to talk her into it. She's pretty stuck-up, man. Good luck cracking that code."

"Thanks. I'm gonna need it."

He wasn't sure if his friend was serious or not, but it didn't matter to him. Her purpose had been used up long ago. She could die and he wouldn't care. And he didn't, either.

Karkat's thoughts grew darker and darker as the days passed, entering an endless abyss as years went by. He was satisfied only by Gamzee's company and settled for no one else. He grew to hate his family, distrusting them, fearing them. He felt they were going to hurt him, just like his sister already proved to be true. But . . . He hated Gamzee, too. He loved him more than anything and hated him more than anything. Aside from himself. He hated himself more than he hated Gamzee. There was no way around it. He was sick.

He was thirteen when he questioned life and all of its works. He wondered why a nine-year-old wanted sex, wondered why a grown man would give it to him, wondered whether or not he should kill himself. He lacked control. He needed to feel like he had some sort of power. His mother took him to therapy when he stopped talking to her, but hated that, too. She must have told them about his adult friend because they wouldn't stop asking him if he was touched and saying that it was wrong for an adult to do anything sexual with a child and that it wasn't his fault. But they knew nothing. Karkat wanted it, begged for it, and Gamzee was only being a good person by giving into his demands. If he hadn't been so insistent, none of it would have happened.

That was also the year that things got much, much worse for him, and suicide seemed like the better alternative. Death was such a sweet release from the hell he'd made for himself.

_Coward._


	5. This Is Us And What Are We

_**Let them be buried – buried alive!**_

_**In their suits, in their ties!**_

_**You're safe here now; you're in the clear now!**_

_**We'll eat soup and apple pies.**_

_I don't want to do this._

_ Yes you do. It's what you always want. You're always thinking about it._

_ No . . . No, I don't want to do it. I never wanted to. I'm being tricked._

_ Liar. Liar, liar. Quit fussing. You're turning him off. He's practically soft now._

_ Good! I want him the fuck off of me! Get him off of me! I want to go home! I miss my mom._

_ Focus. You're being inconsiderate. He needs this. Let him have it. It's not like anyone else would want you anyway. Even before you were ruined, broken, filthy – you were made to do this. Fuck your mom. Fuck your family. They don't even like you. They're always looking at you like you're a freak. Your sister hates you now. Your mom doesn't know you. Your dad, well, he never knew you. You look just like him, yet you're so different and he doesn't even care. Face it. He's all you got. And you better thank him for paying you any mind. You don't deserve his attention, but you're all he wants, needs, and cares for. So appreciate it, fuck up._

_ I . . . I guess that's true . . . It's all true . . . I love him . . . Right?_

_ Yes. You love him. Forever._

_ But I hate him . . . I want him to die . . ._

_ So does he. Shh. He's looking at you._

"Are you alright?" he asked, holding his prisoner's face so gently, kissing his temples to calm the pale boy beneath him, sweating and shaking violently, too lost in his own mind to even notice that anything had stopped around him.

Karkat squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pretending the tears were only more drops of sweat on his pasty face. He didn't know what to feel. The pain receded after a few minutes, much easier than the last time he'd been violated. He'd gotten used to it, really, having had it done so many times now. When he'd first turned thirteen, Gamzee took him to his place and laid him down on his bed, which wasn't unusual, but something was different. He was more physical than he normally was. He'd kissed and touched Karkat almost every time they were together, filling the child's mind with the idea of it being his own idea, not the adult's. And Karkat believed him. Every time. He'd go home, sore and bruised from being thrown around so aggressively, lay down on his bed, cry silently, and remind himself that he wanted it. He wanted all of it. And Gamzee was just giving him what he wanted. Because he was a good man. The best man. God, he was so good to Karkat. The boy was so unworthy of his affections.

But he wasn't expecting it to hurt so bad. Even though he'd been entered many times before, fingers were nothing compared to the full impact of his demon's sick arousal. He blacked out a few times, and couldn't remember much of it, but he had trouble sitting down for a couple of days and refused to look anyone in the eye and didn't say anything to anyone for fear of telling them what had happened. A part of him wanted to talk to someone about it all, but a bigger part was too scared and a bigger part than that was too protective of his friend. He didn't want his family or friends to think he was disgusting for having sex at such a young age, or know that he'd been a master at oral sex at ten, or that he hated it and loved it and felt nothing for it all at once. And he didn't want Gamzee to get in trouble. And that meant he knew, on some level, that it was wrong, that Gamzee knew it was wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his friend alone. They needed each other. He was all the man had. And, though he had friends and family – a complicated and delicate cover for his true self – he couldn't share things with them, talk with them, laugh with them, cry with them, like he could with Gamzee.

_No, I'm not alright. I fucking hate you. Get off of me. Get out of me!_

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," he lied and confessed. "Sorry. Just, ah, st-still hurts."

Gamzee smiled down sweetly at his lord, kissing him softly and pushing his hair out of his face. "I know," he purred, making the boy feel both better and worse, his guts looping around each other in a roller coaster of bile and butterflies. "It'll get better, bro. Just relax."

_Fuck you. Fuck off. I'm gonna fucking kill you, you perverted bastard._

"I love you, Gamzee."

"I love you, too, God."

He hated it when he had sex on the weekdays. Going to school after enduring the process, the pain, the emotions, the guilt, the need to keep swallowing down his vomit so as not to alarm his beloved, was the definition of hell. He had to spend eight hours a day sitting, and it was so hard to because it was never gentle. He wondered why anyone would want to have sex because it hurt so bad. His wondering led him to do research during his computer class, too afraid of the web history showing up on his home computer (he didn't trust anything, much less "private browsing"), and felt his heart stop beating in anxiety when all of the web sites said it was supposed to feel good and that lubricant was a necessity and that orgasms were the general ending to such a thing. It never felt good, lube was never an option, and they were just taunting him about the orgasms. He wasn't stupid. He knew, probably better than his entire class, how sex worked. But it was nothing like how _his_ sex worked.

Wait. Was it even sex? Or was it something else? He never wanted it, but he never said no, so it couldn't have been ra-

"Karkat!"

Said teenager jumped in his seat and closed out his browser, turning quickly to his side to see one of his friends staring at him with bright blue eyes and his distinctive buck-toothed smile. John Egbert. What could be said of the kid? He was always happy. Disgustingly happy. He was always excited about life, loved everything, was kind to everyone (even the people who were cruel to him), and he made Karkat feel the remnants of the dead emotions he used to have a long time ago. It wasn't anything big, but only he and Terezi could pull real smiles from the boy, something that seemed like a miracle.

Ugh. Fucking miracles.

Karkat gave a small smile in return and breathed a sigh of relief that it was only John and not some other snoopy asshole that seemed to flock around him recently. He should've liked the attention, he knew, as girls seemed to adore him and guys were jealous of him for the girls' sights set to him. But he hated it. He hated them. He just wanted to be alone. School was for work. They could at least attempt to bother him when he wasn't trying to get good grades and be a decent human being. But they never did. The girls only liked him because he was quiet and "mysterious" and they wanted to be the ones to fix him. But nothing could, he told himself. He wasn't in need of fixing. He had his own plans for that. But . . . He was too scared to go through with them.

John brought his attention back from his mind with a gentle tap to his shoulder, barely connecting to him, knowing that Karkat hated being touched. That was another reason to like the kid, annoying as he used to be with his kind words and happiness and treating people like they matter. He was very mindful and could read people well, two things that were very handy when dealing with the youngest Vantas. The tortured boy used to hate his nicest friend, feeling like everything was an act and that he was just trying to trick him into liking him so he could do something horrible. But he was genuine and Karkat appreciated him for his silence when it was needed and soft civility when it was desired.

The red-eyed boy rolled his shoulders, a small recoil from the barely-there touch and raised an eyebrow in response. After four years from the first instance of the sexuality that begged to be put out of its misery from within him, he still didn't like to talk all that much. Not even with Gamzee. He felt like it would be wasting his breath, his energy that was running out so quickly every day, and he wanted what few precious words he said to actually matter.

John tucked some of his spiky black hair behind one of his ears before leaning in and saying, "Okay! I just got wind of some pretty cool news. Well, it's actually kind of stupid for these masses, but for nerds like us, it is the world. Colleges are giving out awards at the end of the semester for the top three eighth graders. And with those awards, along with our parents' pride in us and our own academic validity, we'll be given some cash and a good word will be put in for us at the best colleges around. Isn't that awesome?"

Karkat stared at his friend for a long time, letting the information sink in, wondering what that could mean for him. It would look good on his record and in his piggy bank of a mattress, but he was afraid of being known to that many people, standing up in front of everyone to accept an award that meant nothing to his classmates that would actually probably hate him more for being a hard worker who pays attention instead of texting people that don't matter about things that were fleeting at best. He shivered, imagining that he would get separated from his family and that he'd be taken to somewhere private and beaten with his prize and have his money stolen. He covered his mouth in advance at the thought of Gamzee being there, biting his cheek to keep his focus on something else.

"Uh, are you okay? I thought you'd be happy. Did I-"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, closing his eyes tight enough to see stars. Clearing his throat from the unfamiliar action of speaking, he removed his hand from his mouth and held it to his chest to calm himself and remember that he had a heartbeat, the only thing that gave him assurance of his living. It was warm. So warm. He almost smiled in bliss at the feeling, but was reminded of his not being alone and looked back over to his friend who looked so, so worried. How sweet. "Thank you. Yes, that pleases me. Or rather, half of me is ready for such an opportunity, but another half is too much of a coward to undergo such a thing."

John smiled sadly, knowing something to be wrong with his buddy, but too tactful to bug him about his issues that clearly were not meant to be talked about. He just accepted that he wouldn't be let in any time soon years ago, and eagerly awaited the day he would be invited to help. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said quietly, leaning back to give Karkat his space. "It is sorta terrifying to get a prize in front of everyone, especially when you're already disliked."

That was something Karkat was ignorant to. He wasn't cared for by the male audience of his school, but they never hurt him. John, on the other hand, was beaten daily until his seventh grade year, when the shorter of the two snapped at seeing such awful things being done and stabbed the main culprit in the crook of his arm with a pencil. He would've been expelled if his mother and therapist hadn't worked so hard on excuses for him, and if John's father hadn't been so adamant on him being his boy's savior when the faculty had done nothing to stop his son from being bullied and injured every day of his school-going life. Now, they were mostly too afraid of him stabbing them to mess with him. He was "crazy," he could "go off" at any moment. "It's always the quiet ones who shoot down their schools," he'd heard one of his teachers say to another staff member. It probably would have hurt his feelings if he had any left.

He looked down to his feet in the dark shadow of the table they were under and sighed gently, suddenly feeling uneasy at the conversation and the serious implications it had. He wasn't good with people. He didn't know what to say to them at any given moment, much less a sad one in which they needed comforting. "I . . . I'm sorry. I can't know how that feels."

An awkward silence pushed them aside to seat itself rudely between them for what felt like hours. Karkat began to feel small, painful pricks on his arms from the discontent around them and hunched further down as if trying to crawl into himself and hide. "I don't know what to say," he muttered so quietly, it was amazing that anyone could have heard him.

"You don't have to say anything," John replied warmly, feeling guilt at putting the pale kid in such a bad position. "I was stupid. Sorry. It's okay, really. You don't owe me a thing. You don't owe anyone a damn thing."

A crack. The quiet teen look about him for the source of the noise and malaise, but found nothing out of the ordinary aside from him moving his head this way and that. He looked down again and realized he snapped his pen and that it was bleeding black ink all over his hand. He narrowed his eyes at it in angry confusion and scowled with displeasure. How could he have let that happen? Now everyone was staring at him! His breathing quickened and his heart bounced around in his chest, making its wrath known, telling him he was stupid and clumsy and that everyone knew how foolish he was now and that his days of being unharmed were over for sure.

Black grabbed at the corners of his vision, but he refused to let them have their way with him. Not again. He would not make another scene.

"Fuck that," he growled through clenched teeth, getting out of his seat and making his way over to the teacher's desk in a quick shuffle that couldn't keep a straight line. Once there, he forgot how hard it was to talk to adults. Panic made him trip, but his iron will kept him from falling to the floor. An arm was around his waist, his skin beneath his three layers of shirts prickling with tiny, burning stabs at the contact, and his question was asked for him in a sweet and caring voice that he never could get enough of. He felt like smiling, but his mouth didn't move even when his brain told it to.

"Oh, dear," Mr. Captor said airily. "You'd better get him to the nurse fast, Mr. Egbert."

"Of course. Thank you."

Karkat's whole body was burning as John dragged him down the many hallways to the main building that contained the nurse's office. It wasn't used to physical contact from anyone but Gamzee, and it rejected the touch regardless of how much Karkat wanted it.

Wait. That wasn't the way to the nurse.

John held his friend against the back wall of the handicapped bathroom stall and looked him in the eyes seriously, eyebrows furrowed in a way the boy had never seen them before. "Ya gotta help me out here," he said, panting slightly from the run and carrying that extra weight. "Help me help you. You froze up and then started freaking out. What's wrong?"

The shorter teenager shook his head and pushed the other boy off of him, sliding down to the tiled floor beneath him, curling up into himself to hide again. He didn't know what was wrong. His body and mind were two different things, and his mind itself was about ten different things all the time, so how _should_ he know what was happening to him? His existence was failing. Failing everything around him and failing himself. And he finally cried. He rocked back and forth and cried while the other kid got down on his knees and rubbed his back softly, gentle and kind. It was so strange, so different from the usual scenario.

"I fucking hate him," Karkat hiccuped between sobs, gripping himself tighter to keep the truth from coming out. "But I fucking love him, too. I have to save him. I have to! But . . ."

"But who's gonna save you, Karkat?"

His mother noticed his puffy red eyes when he got home, and immediately jumped on him to ask questions that he lacked the patience for. He didn't tell John what was going on with him, but still felt a little bit better about being able to cry in front of someone. He felt stupid and guilty afterward, but also a tad more human. He'd forgotten how to feel anything but his normal emptiness and self-loathing. But he came to the conclusion that he'd used up his emotions for the day and he was left with annoyance for his mother's prying. He couldn't tell her anything. He couldn't tell anyone. His therapist was paid to watch him sit there and, on special days, sleep. He didn't talk to her. He _couldn't_. Not without getting Gamzee and himself in trouble. They would throw Gamzee in jail and think of himself as a dirty whore and cast him aside for shaming them with his filth.

"Were you crying?" Porrim asked, grabbing her son's arms, refusing to let him go before he answered her. "What happened? What's wrong? Who should I kill?"

Karkat sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, a habit he kept from his childhood. The only thing he could remember, really. "I'm fine, mother," he said quietly, cringing at her touch and feeling the familiar rash of rejection. "Just let go. You know I despise getting touched."

His mother did as he said, slowly to savor how he felt in her hands, having not touched him for years at his refusal. She stepped back and crossed her arms, pierced brows turned up in concern, hands clenching and unclenching in reserved anger. "I just want to know why my son, my beautiful baby boy, is not okay. But you won't talk to me. You never talk to me! I can't even touch you! I carried you for nine months, popped you out, raised you, and you've been cold and hateful since you were nine. Nine! Four years and thousands of dollars in therapy and you haven't made any progress and you're still not talking to me. Do you have any idea what this is like? To not even be able to talk to my son, much less hug him? I didn't even get to keep my baby through his childhood. This is _killing_ me, Karkat! And your sister is running off fucking the whole crew because she doesn't give two shits about us anymore and I can't have the one child I have left. It's torture!"

Karkat felt a small twinge of guilt and rubbed his arms to relieve their fiery itches. He wanted to feel more guilty than that, to tell her everything, but she wouldn't understand and it would get messy. Mostly, though, he just wanted to cover his ears at her yelling. So shrill. "I'm sorry," he said after minutes of silence. "I can't help you."

"What did she say this time?"

"That my sister is a whore and that I'm killing her."

"Kanaya's a whore now?"

"Guess so. Did you know?"

"Well, I did. But I don't really care. It's a good reason for me to dump her, you know?"

"I know. Why haven't you yet? Because of me?"

"No, no, no. You're not in this. I've been ignoring her a lot, so I guess that's why she's fucking around. I don't blame her."

"Why . . . Don't you hate me?"

"Why should I?"

"I tore you two apart. If I hadn't started this, whatever this is, then you wouldn't have felt weird around her."

"Shit happens, babe. I like you more, anyway. Always have."

"Th-thanks . . ."

"Anyway. Something happened. And I'm sorta . . . In need of some help."

"What kind of help?"

"I need to go somewhere for a while."

"Oh . . ."

"Look outside your window."

Karkat crinkled his nose up and got off his bed, walking over to his window and pulling back the curtains. Gamzee stood out there and waved to him before curling his finger slowly to tell him to come there. The freckled boy did as he was told and hung up from the phone his capturer had gotten him the year before so they could have private conversations. Gamzee smiled down at him and gave him a hug. He was wearing his clown makeup again, something that Karkat hated. It meant sex. He always wore it on nights he'd make the teenager submit to him. Karkat shuddered against the tall man in fearful anticipation and asked what he was doing.

"Well, I can't stay at my place," the clown said slyly, hinting his lord and slave at an invitation.

"You can't stay here," Karkat replied in a low murmur. "But we can go to this place down the road. No one lives there. It's safe for you."

"For us, my love. For us."

"For . . . Us."

_This is a horrible idea. I want to go back home. I want my mom._

_ Too late, coward._


	6. Give Me Wings And Let Me Fly Away

**AN: John wasn't originally going to be in this, but MewCoyote had an excellent idea.**

**However, I hate this. And I want to be done. That's why this is such a short chapter.**

**One more chapter to go. Thank God.**

* * *

_**I . . . Will never be . . .**_

_**Dirt free.**_

_**Up the stairs, come find me.**_

_**Come sneak up behind me.**_

_**I'll be sleeping soundly.**_

_**Like a baby . . . !**_

"Holy shit! You're finally back! I was so worried about you!"

John Egbert. Sweet, kind, caring, loud as fuck. Karkat closed his eyes slowly and sat down in his seat, shutting out the world and all its inhabitants. Well, all but John, but that was only because if he were any closer, he'd be sitting on his friend like a little creep.

"Hello, Egbert," Karkat said, voice quiet and scratchy from its lack of use. "I have a headache. Do be quiet."

"Yes, sir," John whispered back, slumping a little in guilt and shame. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly before taking his seat next to his friend in a deliberate way, so as not to make much noise. "Sorry. But you were gone for an entire week. I thought something bad happened."

_Something bad did happen. But I can't tell you. I couldn't. I don't want you to hate me._

"No, nothing bad happened. My aunt got married and I had to attend. It was in Washington, so we had to be there a while. I'm perfectly fine."

"Wow . . . That's the most I've heard you speak at one time. Awesome."

The disturbed boy's normally ivory cheeks were dusted with pink at his friend's silly words, but said friend either didn't see or ignored it and went on talking.

"Well, now that I know you're alright, I have news! I mean, I have news . . . Yaaaaay . . . Ahem, anyway, the only way we'll even be picked out for an award is if we write a paper. Well, papers. Twenty pages on any subject. Heavy stuff, but I know we can do it. All they said was that it has to be twelve point Times New Roman, single spaced, titled and correctly labeled."

Karkat stared blankly at his desk for a few minutes, digesting the new information completely before deciding what to do with it. He liked the idea of writing about something important. He could pick any subject. There were so many he wanted to talk about, but lacked the strength and courage to do so. Writing would be a good place to start. A foreign excitement bubbled up within him at this strange version of an ultimate freedom and he turned to his blue-eyed chum and smiled gently.

Said chum smiled back and turned his attention toward the front of the room to listen to the teacher and all he had to say.

The day went on as normal, nothing new, nothing to care about. Not that Karkat would particularly care about anything if it were new or abnormal. He'd look at it, sure, but it would pass in his mind quickly. Even things he cared deeply for came and went faster than he liked. His friendships, though few and erratic, mattered less to him than he wanted. He needed to feel like he could confide in someone, be cared for, care about them, actually want to be around them, but it was hard. God, was it hard to be okay with other humans. But they'd shown their dark sides far more than they ever showed their light ones. Aside from John and Terezi. Those two were always happy, it seemed. Or at least mischievous, in Terezi's case.

The ending bell rang out, shrill and obnoxious, signaling for the bus riders to go to their assigned buses like good little puppets. Karkat breathed out a puff of agitation at not getting finished with his assignment before he had to go home and got out of his seat to leave. He turned to his left to wave his usual goodbye to his friends before heading out, but was greeted with John's face in his own. He gasped quietly and took a step back, holding onto his desk for balance. He hated surprises. Especially ones involving people so close to him.

"Sorry, sorry!" the taller boy exclaimed, raising his hands defensively and wincing dramatically. Terezi sat behind them and giggled at their expense. John ignored her and said, "I was just . . . I wanted to know . . . Ugh. Hey, do you have a cell phone?"

The freckled teen glared as he gathered his books again and eyed the unusually sheepish soul in front of his with cautious suspicion. Raising an eyebrow, he slowly said, "Yes. Why?"

Some of the tension in the other boy's body fell from his stance and he smiled before saying, "Well, then here. Take this."

He held out a slip of paper with writing on it, but Karkat did not take it. He stood stiffly and stared at it, thinking of what it could be and internally going mad about how this was the end of their friendship as this was the trick he'd been waiting for for a year and a half. His heart thudded in his chest pathetically and he felt his face redden in embarrassment for falling for something so stupid as kindness. He should've known better. Dammit, he should have known!

He jumped when his hand was taken in John's, pulling back hard against the teenager's touch, but his hand remained captive and the paper was shoved inside and held tightly in his marionette grasp.

"It's my phone number," John said softly, blue eyes pouring their ocean of sincerity and warmth into the cold and indecisive pool of blood that were Karkat's own eyes, hurting them with the brightness of unquestionable devotion and attention. "I care about you. I want to be able to contact you if I feel there's something wrong. Will you promise to text or call after you get home so I'll have your number?"

_No. I can't. It's not my number to give. It is for Gamzee only. Your eyes aren't meant to see it and your ears aren't meant to hear from it._

"Yes," Karkat said softly, hesitantly, against his better judgment. "I will call you. I must go now, though. I'll talk to you later."

John smiled again and let go of his friend's hand, again ignoring Terezi's giggles and applause. "Thank you."

The other nodded curtly and ran off to catch his bus before it left him at school with the people he hated and loved and cared not for. His stomach ached and his fingers became numb when he'd sat down and the reality crashed around him like waves in a heavy storm. He'd done something bad. That phone was from Gamzee, for Gamzee. He couldn't possibly talk to anyone else with it. It wasn't right. It was borderline blasphemous!

But he wanted to talk to someone else. He wanted to talk to John. He knew the most. He could feel his pain. He wanted to make things better. So why shouldn't Karkat let him try? He'd be bad. Oh, yes. Just this once. He'd allow himself this one small freedom. He looked down at the paper still clenched so tightly in his small fist. He didn't want to let go. He wanted to hold onto it forever. It was all he had to keep himself from cracking. He needed it. "I need you."

_This is a horrible idea. You can't do it._

_ I have to. I promised._

_ No one keeps promises unless they're na__ï__ve or stupid._

_ Oh, shut up. I didn't ask for permission. I'm doing it._

_ Fine. Don't come crying to me when it fails and you're punished._

_ I won't. Fuck off._

_ Ungrateful little shit._

Karkat inhaled a deep and shaky breath, more scared than he'd ever been before. On some level, he was glad that was true. He liked that he could be afraid about something else for once. Something as silly as a phone call. Like a regular teenager. That was sweet. He smiled at the thought and dialed the number he was given, precious numerals he'd already had memorized in the deepest section of his brain's vault of importance. This was the most important thing to him right now. And he loved that. So normal. So stupid. It was wonderful.

"Hello?"

Hello? That was weird. The pale boy thought briefly that he'd dialed the wrong number, but knew that was impossible. "Is this John Egbert?" he asked warily, narrowing his eyes at the shady activity.

"Yes, this is he. Who may I ask is speaking?"

"Karkat, dumdum. You told me to call you. Remember?"

A soft laugh, a nice noise against Karkat's ears, so antithetic from what normally filled them to their breaking brims. "Of course I remember."

"Then why did you act so questionable at my call?"

"What, you mean 'hello?' Everyone does that, dude. It's generally what people say first off. 'Hello?' 'Hi!' 'Hey! Good to hear from you!' Unless you don't know who it is. Your number isn't in my phone, dumbbutt."

Oh. Right. Duh. Of course. It'd been so long since he used a phone to call someone other than Gamzee, who knew who it was calling and never said hello. And when Gamzee called, he knew well who was calling also. They didn't need nonsensical ice breakers. His avoidance of other people left him ignorant to day to day activities as simple as phone calls.

He cleared his throat quietly in embarrassment and said, "I, um . . . I'd forgotten. My apologies."

"It's okay, man. Anyway, what's up?"

Oh, God. That's right. He had to make conversation. He was horrible at that. Gamzee usually talked to him, not the other way around. And even then, he was always asked about something specific to keep him talking. Good man. He was the greatest person ever. Thank all the gods he was brought into Karkat's life.

"Too bad I hate that fucker."

"Huh? Whoa, what? Who?"

Red eyes widened as the pale boy realized he'd said one of his most persistent thoughts out loud. He covered his mouth and stared sideways at his phone as if Gamzee would come out of it and beat him to death. Which wouldn't have been so bad, had he not regretted that recurring thought every time it happened. He should not hate the clown. He should love him, praise him, worship him – he was too good to be thought of in any black ways. Karkat mentally berated himself until he was too weak to fight back against the conscientious onslaught. He'd forgotten he was on the phone until John asked him if he was okay and he closed his eyes, almost falling asleep, and held himself in his bed to provide some sort of comfort, pretending his arms were the boy on the other line's. Like the week before. The careful patting hurt so badly, but he loved it. He loved everything about it in a contradictory way, feeling like a traitor and unowned simultaneously.

"I'm alright," he managed to choke out, the words taking all he had to push out of his uncooperative mouth.

"You're lying," John replied harshly, a tone not heard by screaming ears before. It was almost terrifying. "I know it's bullshit, Karkat. You're not okay. And it's not okay to not be okay. But you don't let anyone in. I've been patient with you, dude, but not everyone is as willing to wait for you to open up as I am. That's why you don't have many friends. You let them slip away to wallow in the darkness. And frankly, I'm sick of it. Do you hear me? I. Will. Not. Let. You. Drown. Believe in me. Believe in my friendship like I believe in you. You saved me. Let me return the favor."

Karkat sat in shadowy room in shocked silence, his hands trembling against his will, lip quivering and eyes watering painfully, trying to get him to pour his heart out. But he couldn't remember if he had one or not. He pressed his clammy, shaking hands against his chest and descended from his anxiety sky to a serene pool of warm consolidation. It was beating. It was there and it was beating and he was alive. He was _alive._ Why did he forget that so much? Why did he have to be reminded every day? He smiled and squeezed his eyes shut to remove the tears, feeling them climb down his face in a soft, tickling way. It was nice. He felt nice.

"Thank you, John," he said lightly, bleeding his appreciation out into the words. "I mean it. You are the best thing to happen to me in such a long time. I want to let you in. I do. But I'm afraid. I'm terrified of your disappointment and denial. I don't want you to hate me. It's the only thing I care about right now."

"Karkat," John breathed softly. "I could never hate you. Ever. Whatever it is, I want to help you through it. You're my best friend. What's wrong?"

"It's . . . I had se-"

"What is this shit?"

Karkat gasped and turned around. He didn't hear his window open. He didn't feel the breeze. He was caught off guard and unaware. And he was in trouble. Gamzee glared down at him, teeth bared, hands tight fists, bleeding from his long, sharp nails digging into the meat of his palm. He was angry. He was furious and it was Karkat's fault. He yelped as he was grabbed by his hair, scalp stinging and feeling hot from the claws buried in the thin layer of flesh on his skull. He was thrown to the floor roughly and began to beg for the clown to not harm his friend and to take him instead.

"Gamzee, no, don't do anything! It was my fault! I shouldn't have-"

"Shut the fuck up, you stupid little shit!" Gamzee spat out, taking the phone in his hand and putting it to his ear. "I'm sorry, Karkat is unavailable right now. But I can take a message."

John felt his entire body go cold when he heard his friend scream. It was the sound of his nightmares. He could do nothing, say nothing – he was useless. He was useless and his friend could be killed for his foolishness! His mouth opened, but he was too scared, too mad, too _USELESS_ to do anything but press the phone to his ear closer and pray his tears don't ruin its insides.

"No message, huh? That's too bad. Guess you didn't care for the kid as much as he thought. Good luck to being a helping hand in other treacherous boys' executions, though. Have a nice day."

A loud thump and another scream and then the deadness of a dial tone.

_I told you so._


	7. I Tried To Soar But Only Crashed

_**I can't clear the leaves from here;**_

_**They're too far under the brush this year.**_

No. No, this wasn't him. He didn't hurt people. He couldn't hurt people. Especially Karkat. Oh, God. What had he done? He didn't remember. He tried and tried to get some glimpse of what had happened, but his mind was a blank, black and endless in its vacancy. How could he let this happen? It wasn't something he should've been capable of. The boy wasn't moving. He just lay there, bloody, purple, naked. He hadn't moved in hours. Gamzee was too scared to touch him. He sat six feet away, rocking back and forth, shivering in stress, guilty and terrified at what his hands had done. He looked down at them and immediately shut his eyes. He couldn't handle it, their bruised knuckles, the broken nails, the dried blood so heavy it was hard to even move them. He hit his head on the concrete wall behind him over and over again, stopping only when the stars demanded he cease his ignorant clubbing attempt. But he wanted to die. It was too much. A burden even greater than his obsession with the cold and motionless boy in front of him. He had loved him. He told himself many times that he did. People don't harm those they love. He couldn't have done this. It didn't make sense. It must have been someone else. That was it! Someone knocked him out and took advantage of his absence. That had to be right!

But then . . . Why were his hands so bloody? No, don't look! TURN AWAY! He screamed and moved his legs to stomp on his hands to avoid looking at them, hoping he could get them off of him. They were flaws. They paid him no mind. They. Were. Not. His. They couldn't be. He let out a deafening wail when his left hand let out a loud pop and his blood flowed painfully out with a strong thud at every pulse that shuddered within him. He risked his sanity to look at what had happened, crying out louder still when he saw a small bone poking through his broken flesh. He didn't mean to do that, either. But then he did. He wanted them off. It just wasn't exactly how he pictured it.

Maybe, just maybe, he was crazy. Years of chasing after a child, hunting him like a true predator, should have been his number one clue. Killing said child and breaking his hands were also good indicators of his lack of clear thinking. Fuck, did he even think at all anymore? He used to be so suave, so charming, so perfect. But within the past year, he'd been such scum, stealing things, breaking into houses, getting into fights, doing drugs, kidnapping, _murdering kids_ – just who was he now? He brought his deformed hand up from under his shoe to look at it more clearly. He grimaced at the sight and held back the bile rising in his throat, trying to crawl out and break him back. It was awful, really, what he'd reduced himself to. He was demented. In any and every way. That proved it – not to mention a thirteen-year-old boy was sprawled out across the room from him in a pool of blood as bright as his eyes.

He didn't turn away, though. He wanted to see. He did it. His hands had betrayed years of cautiousness to destroy that which he loved the most. Or whatever he told himself was love to make himself feel better at night. He was supposed to protect him. He made a lifelong vow to keep his God safe. And he failed. He failed because he was jealous of some stupid little boy. He dropped his arm back to the dirty floor under him and yelled with pain as his hand cracked again on the concrete. He deserved it, though. He knew that to be true. He wanted bad things to keep happening to him. He wanted to pay for his actions. Everything he had done since he was seventeen, when he met Karkat, was for putrid and self-satisfying reasons. He had no good intention behind anything he did. And he needed to repent for his sins in the most physical of ways.

"Goddammit, Karkat," the clown choked out, voice hoarse from all the shouting he'd done. "Why'd ya have to come into my life? Why'd ya have to make friends? It coulda just been us, bro. And you'd a been safe . . . We both failed. Fuckin' trash. Fuck! Why did it have to end like this?"

As if his words were magic, the tiny, frail child in front of him seemed to come to life, opening his blackened eyes slowly, blood irises going around the room to search for some sort of answer. They landed on Gamzee, pupils widening to cover the red completely, then disappearing into tiny specks to not exist further.

The skinny man looked on in astonishment, not believing what he saw, distrusting his own eyes because this could not be happening. There was no way God was alive. His lord hadn't moved, hadn't done anything at all, for hours. And he'd lost so much blood. He shouldn't have any left within him with all that was out, a warm and sticky mess of a bed. Gamzee raised his unbroken hand and reached out slowly toward the boy, getting up on his knees and crawling to him like a submissive dog. Just one touch. That was all he needed.

Karkat moved his arm out from underneath him and his fingertips made contact with his captor's, barely there but meaning everything to them. It hurt to move. It hurt to be alive. But he was, for the moment, and it was precious time for him to do everything before his lights went out. He smiled weakly, stifling the urge to vomit at the intense pain he was in, and bent his fingers to intertwine in the larger ones he craved to feel. "Gamzee," he whispered, closing his eyes to save his strength. "I'm glad . . . I'm so gl-glad you don't hate me."

The adult bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut a few times to empty them of the fresh tears that burned them. Rubbing the clammy hand in his with his thumb lightly, he whispered back, "Shhhh. No. No, no, no. I could never hate you. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. I've always loved you. Since the day we met, all I've done was be in love with you. Don't go now. I can't live without you. Please, don't go, Karkat."

"That . . . Makes me so happy to hear. G-Gamzee, don't cry. It will be okay. We'll see each other again. Don't c-cry. That's an order."

Gamzee laughed shortly and shook his head, pressing his lips to the tiny hand that was growing colder and colder in his. "Y-yes, my lord."

"Just st-stay with me, please."

"Yes, m-my lord."

He did not let go of the boy's hand as he lay down next to him, wrapping his other arm around the malnourished body of his beloved even though it hurt so bad to do so. He wanted to hurt. He needed to hurt. He pressed himself as close as he could to Karkat, kissing his head and brokenly singing lullabies as best as he could to provide the both of them with some sort of sentimental comfort.

Karkat smiled against his partner's chest and let the black that was always trying to take him down finally have him. It gripped him tight and devoured him greedily until there was nothing left but darkness.

John Egbert sat rigidly at his desk in his first hour. It had been three weeks since he had seen Karkat. He kept thinking of the phone call. His friend's chilling scream, a noise he never thought Karkat could make since he was normally silent or barely audible. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He used to cry when he thought about it, but he didn't anymore. He couldn't, try as he might. He still wanted to, he made the same noises, but tears wouldn't fall no matter how much his eyes would burn. He thought that perhaps he'd ran out of tears for the year. Maybe even his entire life. Or maybe he was just that broken. He was prone to shaking almost constantly since that day, unable to even hold things on some days, making schoolwork hell. School in general was hell these days, since the only reason he'd been left alone was because everyone was too afraid of getting stabbed by crazy Karkat. The daily ritual of beating the shit out of him had restarted as if if had never stopped, worse now, given his inability to fight back with his frequent trembling. His dad wanted to take him out of school, but he couldn't leave. Not until he knew his friend's fate.

He'd called the cops about an hour after the call, unable to do so sooner due to immense shock keeping him frozen in place, silently crying with the phone still pressed so close to his ear, the haunting dial tone mocking him for his uselessness. If he'd acted sooner, if he hadn't ask for his number in the first place, Karkat could be okay now. It was his fault. He'd caused this. It was he who sent his best friend to hell.

The boy jumped slightly when he felt his pencil snap in his quaking fingers and sighed because it was the fourth pencil already to die that morning. He was losing it. He knew that and feared what awaited him in the future as his mind was being corroded by the horrendous memory that was the heart of every nightmare he could ever have. He bent down slowly to pick up the other half of the pencil but was stopped by another student, a small gasp of shock and pain leaving his mouth as the large boy jammed the broken pencil into John's hand.

"Say a word, and I'll kill you," the boy, Caliborn, said, gold canine catching his lip between words. He'd been the one Karkat stabbed last year, and John's eyes flickered to the scar in the crook of his arm absently before catching himself and looking back into his bloodshot eyes that were full of unreasonable anger and hatred for just about everything. "I'm not even kidding. I will. Kill you."

John bit his lip as the pencil was roughly pulled from his hand and thrown at his face. He sat back up in his chair and hunched over, looking at his bloody hand that was shaking even more than usual. The pencil didn't go all the way through, missing the exit of his palm by millimeters, but it was enough to be the most painful thing to ever happen to him at one time and it bled considerably. Blue eyes searched for anything he could use to wrap it, but found nothing that would satisfy the heavy stream that seemed to never end. Settling for wrapping it in his shirt, he decided to wait until lunch and say he stabbed it by accident on the playground.

Moving the slick hand to another section of his shirt, he made his way to the nurse's office quickly, hurrying along to make it there before he got jumped again. He was always vulnerable, it seemed, and was endlessly reminded of that as he was attacked at every opportunity. Even around other people. The kids used to cheer Caliborn and his cronies on, but it was so prevalent that they lost interest after a while and just walked on as John was beaten mercilessly. Teachers would walk by, look, shake their heads and speedwalk to wherever they were going before noting the scene that was before them. Never once did they stop and help. But that was okay. They were busy. They didn't have time for one stupid, nerdy kid. He didn't matter. Why would he?

The nurse shrieked at the sight before her, pink glasses falling down her nose slightly. John smiled sheepishly and told her the lie of him being so clumsy and dumb. She frowned at him, disbelieving his words, but too worried about his wound to care too much about something so petty for the time being. He watched the small television hung up at the ceiling of her office to keep his mind off of the excruciating pain of the kind woman cleaning and wrapping his hand as gently as she could. It was the local news, and he wasn't really paying attention to anything being said until he saw a picture of Karkat and his heart stopped in his chest.

"Turn it up," he mumbled monotonously, zombie-like in his frozen horror.

"Hm?" Miss Peixes asked back, taping his dressing to keep it secure.

"Turn it up. Turn it up! Turn it up!"

The teen looked around him spastically, trying to find a remote to increase the volume of the breaking report. The nurse found it before he did and he stared intensely at the TV, blocking out everything except the program.

"The boy who went missing almost a month ago, Karkat Vantas, was found today in the yard of an abandoned home. Sheryl Pitcher, the citizen who found him, said that he was halfway hanging out of a storm shelter in the yard. She was on her way to a doctor's appointment, but thought that there was a dog trying to get out and stopped her car to help the animal. She was shocked to find an emaciated, nude boy instead, and recognized him from previous news casts. Pitcher reports that he was ice cold and she believed he was dead until he began mumbling phrases about clowns and eggs. Vantas has been taken to Sacred Heart Memorial Hospital and is currently undergoing treatments to save his life. In other news-"

"Oh my God. Oh my GOD! MA'AM!"

The nurse jumped at his loud words, but raised her eyebrows in response, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

"Could you take me to the hospital? That's my friend in there! I'm the one who called the police! Please, please, I need to see him! Please, ma'am, I can't- I can't stay here anymore! I-I need to make sure he's okay!" The poor boy began sobbing, tears finally flowing down his flushed face like a waterfall as he continued to beg the woman to take him to the hospital.

She twisted her long hair in her fingers, thinking it over. Truly, she wanted to help this kid, but she had duties to attend to at the school and she couldn't get the kid from the TV out of her mind. She knew him from somewhere. He was . . . He was the boy that was always hanging out with Gamzee! "Oh, fish," she whispered in realization. Tavros had told her that he _still_ hung around with Gamzee. And Gamzee was awfully affectionate with him. What if he-?

"Okay, okay!" Feferi exclaimed, grabbing the crying boy by his good hand. "We'll go, but I've gotta tell my boss I'm leaving for a little while and to send sick kids to the front office in the mean time. Alright? Hang on!"

For such a gentle and delicate-looking girl, she sure was a crazy driver. John noted that she ran four red lights and dismissed stop signs completely. So much for being a woman of safety. But he was glad they got there so fast. He didn't even wait for her to park before jumping out of the car and running to the front of the building, ignoring the honks from angry drivers barely missing him with their vehicles. Fuck them, his friend needed him!

"Ah, m-miss!" he panted, holding onto the service counter to keep himself up, growling at his hurt hand and its command for his attention.

"Oh, my! What are you in here for?" the nurse asked, staring at his hand and taking in his sweaty and panting frame.

"Not me! Karkat! Karkat Vantas! What's his room number? Wh-where can I find him?"

The woman stared at him blankly at first, then to her computer, then back to him. "Uh, 413. Sir."

"Thank you!" He waved at her then ran off down the hall, stopping with a squeak of his shoes as he realized he had no idea where he was going. He turned back around and shouted, "Where would that be, ma'am?"

The small lady leaned over the counter and replied, "Down the left hall, up there stairs, third room on the right."

"Thank you!" He took off again in the direction she told him, tripping slightly, body trembling with its normal quivers and new anxiety shakes added to it. He was scared. So scared of what he was going to walk into. He didn't want to see whatever horrifying condition Karkat was in, but he needed to see him. He needed to be there for once. He wasn't going to be useless anymore. Not again.

"Whoa, kid! Slow down!"

John skidded to a stop in front of the door he needed to go into, the entrance blocked by a tall, blonde nurse. He looked up at her quizzically for a moment before panting out, "I need to get in there, ma'am!"

"The patient in there is in critical condition," she replied, looking down at him sadly, black lips pursed with sympathy. "Only family. Unless you can prove your relation."

"Fuck!" John stomped a foot on the glossy floor beneath him in anger and tedium. "He's my best friend and I need to know if he's okay! Let me see him!"

"I'm sorry, kiddo, but thems the rules. It sucks, but-"

"Let him in."

The nurse turned around and John craned his neck to see a tall, slender woman standing behind the other woman with the "Roxy" name tag. She looked like she'd been crying for quite some time, heavy bags and shadows under both bloodshot eyes, pale face spotted here and there with red patches. She was older and possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Ma'am, I-"

"Let him in," the taller woman repeated, more sternly than the time before. "He is the only thing in my son's life that has been brought to my attention and you will let my baby have this one thing, do you understand?"

"Miss Maryam, please-"

"Do. You. Under. Stand."

Roxy looked down, avoiding the other woman's intimidating gaze and harsh tone, kicking her feet a little before stepping aside and allowing John to enter the room.

Miss Maryam closed the door behind the kid and walked back to her seat beside the hospital bed, holding her son's IV-fed hand in hers as if that was all she could do to keep from breaking down again. A few tears slid quietly down her face, and she said, "Sit down," without looking at her son's friend who stood still and frightened next to the door.

John walked slowly, silently, toward the bed on which his best friend lay upon, motionless and mute. The noises of the heart monitor and respirator were the only things breaking whatever silence was attempting to suffocate them. He placed his shaking left hand on Karkat's freezing one and started to cry again. It wasn't fair. How could something so bad happen to someone so good? He fell to his knees, not minding the pain of them hitting the hard floor below, and cried harder, wishing vehemently that he could reverse time and save the tiny boy he held onto so tightly.

"I'm glad," Porrim said quietly, stopping to take a heavy breath. "I'm glad my son had one friend he could talk to. This is the first time I've held him since he was nine. This is the most I've been around him in four years. If he were awake, he would push me away, ignore me, hide. And my broken heart is only shattering more at the reality that that is what he'll probably do. As much as it hurts, kills me, at least I know he actually talks to someone. Thank you, John Egbert. Thank you for saving my son. He's all I have left, and you made sure I got him back from the dead. Thank you. Thank you so much. You're an angel."

The blue-eyed boy wiped his eyes and looked up at Karkat's mother with the most intense love and admiration he'd felt in a long time. She was crying again, her eyes tightly shut, holding onto her son for dear life, trying not to make a noise. John reluctantly let go of his friend's hand and walked over to the woman, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a warm embrace. She let go of her tears and sobbed harshly on her only link to her son's life. She cried and cried until she was almost sick from the exertion. John only held her tighter and whispered, "Thank you for creating something I could actually care about. He saved me first. And I couldn't do half as much for him as he did for me. I'm so sorry. I was useless."

Porrim, pushed the boy away to look into his eyes of sky and said, "No. No, John. He would be dead if you said nothing. He would be dead if you hadn't given him hope. Hope that life isn't all that bad. He didn't trust us. But you . . . You were something new, an unsullied source. And you gave him something worth fighting for. Thank you, dear. You are a hero."

They both looked at the fragile boy hooked up to various machines as he coughed lightly and opened his eyes for the first time since arriving. He looked sideways over at the two huddled together and smiled gently, tears falling down his face freely. They immediately got up and hovered over him, crying all over again.

"Mama," Karkat said in a raspy voice, muffled slightly by the oxygen mask over his face. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Porrim chuckled between her sobs and replied, "I know, baby. I know you do."

"Egbert."

John leaned over him more and asked, "Y-yeah?"

"Thank you . . . For not giving up on me."

The taller boy smiled and shook his head, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes again. "Thank you for being my friend."

The news reports were wrong. He'd been found three days before with shattered ribs, broken legs, and a collapsed lung, along with various cuts all over his body, a broken nose, two black eyes, broken teeth, clumps of hair ripped out, and a ruptured ear drum. He'd also been raped. Porrim had screamed and cursed the world and every nasty motherfucker in it that would do such a thing. John had been too horrified to say anything about it. Karkat shrugged it off and said, "Things happen."

However, he wasn't as apathetic about life when he was informed that his parents got a divorce and his sister had been murdered the day of his disappearance. The divorce was expected, but he was ill prepared for the latter news, going into shock while his mother thanked whatever otherworldly deity that he was in the hospital when he heard about it so they could help his body's intense reaction to the information.

He stayed in the hospital for a long time, and didn't go to school for just as long. John skipped a week of school to be with his friend when he was needed, and visited him daily. Sometimes Terezi would visit and that made Karkat feel better. He adored those two. But there was something very wrong with him and he knew that he was going to do something very bad very soon. He thought of his hospital stay as a waste of money and he felt awful for his mother having to pay such expensive bills. That wasn't fair. And he was a shitty son.

He went back to school only for John. He heard that his friend was being bullied again and walked right up to Caliborn and stabbed him in the calf with a fishing knife he stole from his dad's forgotten tackle box. As the huge teenager bent down in pain, Karkat grabbed him by the shoulder and whispered, "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you. I'm serious. I will kill you."

Suffice to say, John was left alone again, smiling with his friends and enjoying being alive.

Karkat, on the other hand, was not enjoying life. He finally realized that Gamzee was a horrible person. He stole his innocence, his body, his mind – he killed his sister. He broke Porrim's heart. He tore apart a family. He was a bad man. He could bleat out love and devotion all day, but that was not what love was supposed to be like. It was ownership and a vile obsession that escalated to molestation and rape. And Karkat was finally ready to put in a word about it.

He ignored all of his schoolwork and focused on that twenty page writing assignment. He wrote about everything that happened between him and Gamzee, making sure to use actual names as he would receive no consequences. He had no idea where that clown was, but that was okay. It would be over soon.

In a couple of weeks, he'd written all he needed to, exceeding the page limit, but that was fine, too. He would get what he needed out of it. When the bell rang to dismiss the bus riders, he gave John and Terezi suffocating hugs and said, "I love you two. Thank you for all you've done."

They were confused, but hugged back anyway. If only they knew that that would be their last hug from the broken boy.

He slipped his final draft of his assignment and autobiography into John's locker, knowing he wouldn't open it until the following morning. When he got home, he immediately went to his home phone and called his kindest friend, receiving a "Hey, Karkat!" instead of his first awkward "Hello?"

Karkat smiled and said, "Hello, Johnathan. I put something special in your locker, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow to see what it is."

"Aw, man. You know I hate surprises!"  
"You'll like this one. On another subject, I must say that . . . I love you. I love that you care about me, I love that you respect me, I love that you are who you are. I would have surely died a while ago had you not pushed yourself so aggressively into my life. Thank you, John. You are my one in a million friend."

John felt his face heat up and he tripped on his words before settling for, "Uh, y-yeah. I . . . I love ya, too, buddy! Thanks, too. You, um, you saved me before I could do anything for you. But you've still done more for me."

"Don't doubt yourself. You are a beautiful person, and words can do you no justice. You are perfect."

After they had said all they needed to, Karkat hung up and made his way to the roof of his three-story home. He used to sit on the edge of his roof, debating jumping every now and then. But he was always too afraid. Now, it didn't matter so much. He couldn't go back, as much as it hurt him to leave his sweet and wonderful friends behind. Not to mention his already broken mother. She'd probably kill herself after finding his body. He made a note in his story, on the last page, telling his friends and family that he always loved them and that he'd miss them and that he was sorry. It was like an elaborate suicide note. He also told John not to kill himself. He had to live on. He had to get Karkat's story out there, no matter what.

Karkat sighed, feeling guilty about putting all that pressure on his dear friend, but he simply couldn't bear his life as it had turned out. He would always be dirty and afraid.

"La, da, da, da, da, da, da, da," he sung softly, taking a step forward. "La, da, da, da, da, da, da." Another step. "La, da, da, da, da, da, da, da." Another step. "La, da, da, da, da, da, da." He reached the end of his roof and turned around. Taking his final breath, savoring the sweet smell of fresh-cut grass and oncoming rain, he tilted his body back and fell to the hard ground below. The fall felt nice, the wind around him swirling everywhere, tickling his cheeks and carrying him towards a better life.

John arrived at school and immediately rushed to his locker. A thick stack of papers awaited his reading in a nice blue folder. "_Dirty Night Clowns_, huh?" He waited a few minutes for his friend to come to school, but figured it wouldn't hurt to get a head start on the small book. "Pick me up, hose me down. I'm sorry, boys, about the dirty night clowns . . ."

* * *

**AN: Alright, that's the end of that. I literally cried the whole time I wrote this chapter. So much for being manly. kindawannakillmyselfnowholyfuckamidepressed**

**Anyway, you dear readers are so kind and caring. It makes me so happy. I showed all of my friends your reviews and we all aw'd together like lovesheep. Seriously. You have no idea how much every word means to me. I never thought this would get so popular. In fact, I thought people would get angry, hate me, or avoid it, given the very clear warning. But you all showed me.**

**Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for reviewing, thank you for letting me finally let go of something I'd been holding on to since I was nine. Ten years is an awful long time to keep something evil inside you. I was always too afraid to tell. I didn't want them, or me, to get in trouble. But things are different, better now, and I'm glad to have gotten the opportunity to get this off my chest.**

**I love you. Be safe. Be kind. Be you.**

**Again, PM me any time if you want to talk. I won't turn you away.**

**-Aviss**


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